


blind from this sweet, sweet craving

by missandrogyny



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Banter, Cake, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Photographer Harry, Sexual Content, Teacher Louis, Weddings, an immense lack of kissing for a pretend-to-be-engaged fic, so much of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 20:10:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7375711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missandrogyny/pseuds/missandrogyny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So, I guess we'll go?" Louis asks later, when Harry has calmed down and eaten his weight in Chinese food. He plays with this chopsticks, spearing another piece of chicken and pops it in his mouth. "I mean, I wouldn't mind. We could make it an adventure."</p><p>Harry observes him, watches him seated across from him on their old living room carpet, with a container of food on his lap. He's fidgeting, avoiding meeting Harry's gaze–he probably knows that Harry's mad at him for ruining the one chance they had to get out of this situation. And he's not wrong, Harry is definitely very mad. Harry wants to strangle him and castrate him and smack him upside the head.</p><p>But he's also Harry's best friend, and despite everything, despite all the fuck-ups and the plot twists and everything just not playing out the way it should, he'd still rather be stuck in this situation with Louis than any of the other boys. He's got Harry's back, and in a weird, abstract way, he knows they'll be able to get out of this situation, together.</p><p>Harry sighs. "We're going," he says resignedly, his shoulders slumping. </p><p>Oh well. There are definitely worse ways to spend the weekend than pretending to be engaged to his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blind from this sweet, sweet craving

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so i did the first part on my tumblr and i got so obsessed with the idea so after six days of feverishly writing, crying, and listening to drake songs, here it is. probably the fastest, sappiest fic i've ever written but eh.
> 
> sort of inspired by [this](http://missandrogyny.tumblr.com/post/146559473070/alrightevans-i-just-saw-a-thing-on-fb)

Harry has always considered Louis his best friend.

He doesn't really know how that happened–Louis isn't his oldest friend, not by a mile, nor is he the most reliable (that's Liam), but he's the one Harry knows best, the one that Harry would turn to if he ever needed anything. He's the one that knows everything about Harry, from Harry's most embarrassing moments to what he had for breakfast today, and the one that can literally finish Harry's sentences.  The one who can lift Harry's mood with just a smile or a well-placed comment, the one who's always there for Harry, during the good days and the bad.

He's the one Harry wants to spend most of his time with, so much that for they've lived together for the past three years, sharing a two-bedroom flat somewhere in London. He's the one that has stayed constant, despite the ever-growing changes in their friendship group. He's Harry's best friend, and despite getting Harry into a bit of trouble the past few years, Harry would still be willing to pull another prank with Louis, should he ask.

And ask he does.

"Harry," he says, brightening up when he catches sight of Harry on the couch, looking at pictures on his laptop. He kicks off his shoes and drops his bag on the floor, before making his way onto the couch. "Harry, Harry, listen."

Harry makes a mental note to pick up his things later. "What is it?"

"Guess what I found out today," Louis says smugly. He sits down beside Harry, shakes his arm for good measure.

Harry cocks his head and pretends to think. "That you're a giant arse?"

Louis swats him on the back of the head. "No."

"That you _have_ a giant arse?"

"One more and you'll wake up without an eyebrow," Louis threatens. He sits on his knees, crosses his arms. "Really, guess."

"I don't want to," Harry complains, leaning back on the couch. He closes his eyes, places his hands above his eyes. "I'm a shit guesser."

"You are also a whiny baby," Louis shoots back, pinching and twisting Harry's ear. Harry and slaps his hand away.

"Just tell me."

Louis sighs. "God, you are no fun. But fine, I'll tell you, because I _looooove_ you." He leans forward, his lips pursed, making loud kissy noises until Harry huffs and pushes his face away.

"What is it?"

"Okay, so I saw this poster on a cake shop," Louis says, perking up. He's got a glint in his eye, one that tells Harry that he's planning something, something that isn't exactly, well, good. "And it says that they're offering cake samples."

Harry waits for the punch line. "...And?"

" _And_ ," Louis continues, the mischievous look on his face getting more and more pronounced, "they're _free_ cake samples."

That _cannot_ just be it. "Louis, get on with it."

Louis shushes him. "I'm telling a dramatic story here, Curly," he says, rolling his eyes. "So I went in and inquired, `cause, you know, I'm not one to turn down free cake, and it turns out, they were a _wedding cake shop_ ," he emphasizes these last words, like Harry's supposed to understand what he means. "And they're only offering free samples to those who are, quote unquote, engaged." He makes air quotes with his fingers, his smile growing even wider.

Harry's still a bit confused. "I don't get it."

" _Free cake samples_ ," Louis says slowly, emphasizing each word. " _For the engaged_."

"Yeah, and?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "You are kind of slow, aren't you?"

Harry pouts. "Hey."

"But don't worry, I love you all the same. What I'm trying to get at here is," Louis pauses dramatically, fixes Harry with a look that’s supposed to be stern, if it wasn't for the glint in his eye. "They're offering free cake samples for the engaged. And I kind of want cake."

There's a moment where Harry processes his words, running them over in his mind. And then, when Louis' implied meaning hits, his jaw drops.

"Louis," he says, eyes wide. "No."

" _Yes_ ," Louis replies triumphantly, pumping his fist. "Yes, yes, yes."

"We can't," Harry says, shaking his head. The thought is kind of ridiculous, and incredibly farfetched. "That's not, I don't think that's _legal_."

"I don't think there are laws against this, Harry."

"But still," Harry replies. "I don't think we're morally supposed to do this."

"It's a promotion," Louis dismisses, waving a hand. "Promotions are _meant_ to be availed."

"Yeah, by those who fit the criteria, not," he gestures to himself, then to Louis, "like, us."

"But we could end up fitting the criteria," Louis says, rolling his eyes. "See, we don't now but," he gets off the couch, kneels in front of Harry. "Harry Styles, love of my life, will you marry me?" He asks tonelessly.

"No," Harry answers, rolling his eyes. He reaches out, grabs Louis' arm. "Get up from there."

"But I want cake," Louis whines, as he lets himself be hauled back onto the couch. "There is _free cake_ being offered, and I want cake, and you're not letting me have it?"

"Louis," Harry replies, exasperated. "If you want cake, I can bake you cake."

Louis shakes his head. "No. You can only bake like, one flavour at a time. I want _all_ the flavours."

He's acting like a child, and Harry kind of wants to smack him. Sure, Harry knows he's doing this on purpose to annoy him into saying yes, but well. Harry still wants to smack some sense into him.

"Louis," he says, "I refuse to pretend to be your fiancé just so you can have cake."

"You're being stupid," Louis says, crossing his arms. "It's _free fucking cake_."

" _You're_ being stupid," Harry shoots back. "Why the fuck would you want to scam innocent businesses out of cake?"

"I'm not scamming them," Louis argues, raising his hands up defensively. "They offered it. I'm just availing of it."

"Louis, they offered it to couples looking to get married, not two single blokes who just want to have some cake."

"Well, if you said 'yes' to my proposal earlier, then we could be two engaged blokes _and_ we could have cake. Tadaaa."

"Louis," Harry says, shaking his head. "Really. No." He just doesn't think it's morally right. Sure, he'd never say no to free cake, but when free cake comes at the cost of lying? Probably not.

Louis pouts. "Please," he says quietly. "Please, Harry. I'll do anything."

And suddenly his blue eyes are wide and pleading, making him look like a puppy. He juts his lower lip out a bit, even making it tremble, and oh no, Harry is so fucked. _So_ , so fucked. He can't win against Louis' puppy dog eyes, he just can't. It's kind of like trying to get mad at Puss-In-Boots from Shrek when he makes _that_ face. It's virtually impossible.

Harry tries to keep his resolve from crumbling. "Like what?"

"I'll do the laundry," Louis answers immediately, like he had that answer already prepared.

Louis hates the laundry. "Do you even know how to do the laundry?"

"No," Louis replies. "But I'll learn."

Harry laughs drily. "Your dedication to cake is just _so_ heartwarming."

"I'll do all the laundry for the next month," Louis says decisively. " _All_ of it. Even yours."

"You know, that thought kind of terrifies me."

Louis smacks him on the arm. "Please, Haz," he says, pulling out the puppy dog eyes again. "I promise. I pinky-promise, even. You know how much pinky-promises mean to me."

Harry looks at him, sighs, and resigns himself to a losing battle. "Fine," he says, and tries not to smile when Louis' face splits into a dazzling grin. "Fine, fine. Okay. Whatever."

"Thank you, Haz!" Louis cheers, hugging him quickly, before making his way to his room, presumably to get changed. Harry sighs, shakes his head, and goes to pick up Louis' stuff from the floor.

Fucking Louis and his acting skills.

. . .

 

The ring feels awkward around his finger, and Harry can't stop fidgeting with it. It fits nicely, seeing as Harry's index and ring fingers are roughly the same size, but he's just not _used_ to having a ring there. He can't stop playing with it, tugging it off and putting it back on his finger.

"Stop playing with it," Louis hisses, as they wait for the receptionist to confirm their booking. Because yes, they needed a booking. Harry doesn't know how Louis even found this place. "People will get suspicious."

"Sorry," Harry whispers back. He twists it again. "I'm just not used to the feeling."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Here," he says, reaching out and intertwining their fingers.  "Just hold my hand, okay?"

Harry swallows. Louis' hand is warm pressed against his own, and somehow that makes Harry's palms even clammier. "Okay."

"Mr. Tomlinson and Mr. Styles?" The receptionist reappears, smiling at them. Louis smiles at her charmingly, and Harry tries to copy him. He's sure his grin comes out like a pained grimace, but, the receptionist doesn't seem to notice. "Through here, please."

"Thank you," Louis says, grinning, and all but drags Harry to where a small corner has been sectioned off for them. Harry tries to wave at the receptionist, but she doesn't notice, turning back to her desk and shuffling papers around.

Louis drops Harry's hand the instant they get seated on the table. "What the fuck, Haz," he says, surreptitiously wiping his hand on his nice trousers. "It's like you've got a river in your hand, or summat."

"Sorry," Harry apologizes. He wipes his own palms on his trousers, taking a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. "I've just never committed a crime before."

"We aren't committing a crime," Louis says, rolling his eyes. "Stop calling it that."

"But it is, and–"

"Hello boys," their contact chooses that time to appear, beaming at them. "I'm Anna, and I'll be assisting you today."

"Hello," Louis says, standing up to shake her hand. He kicks Harry lightly on the shin, and Harry stands, placing his hands behind his back. "Thank you so much for this, really it's an honour."

She smiles knowingly at Louis, before reaching over to shake Harry's hand. Harry hopes she doesn't find it sweaty. "No, thank you for considering us," she says. "We make some of the finest  wedding cakes in London, and I hope you'll be able to find one to your liking."

"I'm sure we will," Louis says grinning. "Isn't that right, my love?"

He elbows Harry in the ribs subtly, and Harry opens his mouth, tries to say something sufficiently charming, but all that comes out is a weird squeak.

He's a failure. A goddamn failure. And he's going to prison, and he won't even have any fucking cake. Great.

Anna furrows her brow. "Is he alright?"

"Oh, he's fine," Louis says breezily, taking his seat. He kicks Harry's shin, and Harry sits down roughly, hitting his bum against the seat. "He's just still feeling a bit under the weather–he had a fever the past few days, the poor darling, and added to that is the fact that he's just not used to being out and about like this." He caresses Harry's arm lightly, gently, and goose bumps erupt on his skin. "Don't worry, he'll be right as rain in a bit, right, my love?"

Harry nods, not daring to say anything else.

Anna makes a sympathetic noise. "I see," she says. "Well, you have nothing to worry about. Our establishment is definitely a safe space for everyone. Hopefully, it'll make him feel a lot more comfortable."

"I'm sure it will," Louis reassures, as Harry bites his lip, tries not to say anything. He doesn't want to blow their operation. "He just needs some time to relax."

Anna smiles. "That, we can definitely do. I'll leave you alone, for a bit, call me when you're ready to try the first cake."

"We will, thank you Anna," Louis says, and Harry watches as she disappears into the back of the shop.

"Relax," Louis hisses immediately, pulling his hand away, when she's gone. Harry kind of misses the contact. "Come on, I can't sell this without you."

"Sorry," Harry says, through gritted teeth, trying to get himself. "I just don't think I'd do well in prison, so, you know, kind of nervous here."

"You're not going to prison, what the fuck," Louis says. He kicks Harry in the shin again, and this time, Harry kicks back. "Just. Be yourself. Niall tells us we already act like a married couple anyway, so it's all good."

Harry takes a deep breath. And another. And another. "Louis," he says, his eyes wide. "What if she sees right through us?"

"She won't," Louis says confidently, and really, _how can he be so calm about this_? They're literally stealing cake from the store, and Harry absolutely _refuses_ to end up in jail for something as stupid as this. Or, if he's being honest, he refuses to end up in jail at all.

Louis must see something in Harry's expression, because he's tugging at Harry's ear, pulling it down until Harry can rest his head on Louis' shoulder. It's a bit of a painful position, but it calms Harry slightly. "We can do this, I promise. Just act like you would in front of the boys, okay?" He cards his hands through Harry's hair, scratches at his scalp. "It's going to be fine. I promise it will. I'll protect you, okay?"

Harry turns his head, buries his face into Louis' neck. Louis smells good–a mixture of cologne and tea and the laundry detergent Harry uses, and it reminds Harry of home, of their two bedroom apartment, of their old couch and their mismatched pillows. It reminds Harry of warm mornings with Louis, of laughing while Harry makes breakfast while Louis makes tea. It reminds Harry of cuddling up to Louis underneath the fleece blanket every Friday night while watching a film. It reminds him of all these things and then some, and suddenly his muscles uncoil, his breathing slows, the pounding of his heart stops.

"Okay," he murmurs into Louis' skin, before pulling away. He fixes his hair, grins manically at Louis. "Okay, I can do this."

Louis grins back. "Of course you can."

Harry grabs his hand under the table, and Louis doesn't let go.

. . .

The cake tasting goes flawlessly, all things considered. Anna brings out a slice of each of the flavours they have available in the store, and he and Louis take turns tasting it and critiquing it. Harry particularly likes the Key Lime, while Louis is insistent that the Boston Creme is the best. Anna also hands them a book, and they both peruse it, pointing out which designs they like.

At one point during the tasting, they start feeding each other–Harry gets frosting all over his nose and Louis has frosting in his _hair_ , but it's fun, and they end up in hysterics, tears in their eyes. Louis uses a napkin to wipe the frosting off his fringe, before cleaning up the frosting on Harry's nose, and Harry gives him a kiss on the cheek in thanks.

Soon, they've tried all the cake flavours, and they're standing up, shaking Anna's hand. They compliment her on the cakes, which she accepts gracefully, before telling them to call if they want to order anything.

"We'd be happy to bake the cake for your wedding," she says, smiling. "You make such a beautiful couple."

"Thank you so much," Harry says sincerely, grabbing Louis' hand with his own. He gives her a charming smile. "We'll call if we need anything."

"Please do," Anna says. "Best of luck on the rest of the wedding preparations." She leads them back towards the reception, and follow her, their joined hands swinging between them.

"So, I think that was _fun_ ," Louis says as they're walking, giving him a pointed glance. "And, you know, not at all something you should've been nervous for."

Harry shrugs. "It was definitely something I should've been nervous for, and you know it."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Please."

Harry leans closer to him. "And now you've got your cake," he whispers into Louis' ear, "which means, you have to do laundry for the next month."

Louis huffs. "I will, I promise."

They reach the reception area, and bid goodbye to Anna. Louis darts forward, pulling Harry toward the door by their joined hands, and Harry tries to follow, but he trips over his own feet and crashes right into a woman entering the shop.

"Sorry," he apologizes, taking a step back. He brushes the dust of his trousers and looks up, about to offer another apology, when he catches sight of the woman and freezes.

"Harry?" The woman says, her eyes wide, and Harry closes his eyes, sends a quick apology prayer to any deity that's listening, because _wow_ does karma work fast.

And damn does it fuck things up like a bitch.

"Gemma," he says, his smile pained.  He's acutely aware of Louis coming to stand behind him, of how their hands are still joined. "Hi."

"It's so great to see you, H," Gemma gushes, throwing her hands around his neck. Harry let's go, wraps his arms around her waist. She smells like a mixture of apples and the perfume she's been using since she was twenty, and Harry actually finds that he's missed his sister quite a bit.

"It's great to see you too," he says, when he pulls away. "But I thought you were in Cheshire?"

"Popped down for a bit," Gemma says, waving her hand. "I've got a cake tasting today, and this shop makes the _best_ cakes." She looks around, clearly delighted. "You know, for my wedding and all that."

Because, ha ha, yeah, Gemma is getting married in three months. Harry knew that. He's got it marked down on his planner, encircled on the calendar in their living room, even plotted out on his iCal. He's a great brother.

"Oi, Brad!" Gemma calls, and _oh_ , he's here too. This day could not get any better. "Harry's here, come say hi."

Brad suddenly appears beside Gemma, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Hey, Harry," he says, smiling, and he reaches out to shake Harry's hand. "Nice to see you again, man."

"Likewise," Harry says. He can still feel Louis behind him, not drawing any attention to himself, not even daring to make a sound, which is good.

The instant they're out of here, Harry is going to scream at him for getting him into this predicament.

Or maybe not scream. Maybe just huff at him and not talk to him for a bit.

"This place is so cute," Gemma says, still looking around. "And they've got _such_ good reviews too, I can't wait to try their wedding cakes, and," Harry feels his heart sink as he sees suspicion slowly dawn on Gemma's face, and it feels somewhat like watching a car crash in slow motion when he sees Gemma furrow her brow, her green eyes suddenly sharp.

"Harry," she says slowly, her eyes narrowed. Her eyes dart to his left hand, and Harry quickly hides it behind his back, all while grinning charmingly back at her.

"Yes?" He asks, his heart in his throat. _Please don't ask why I'm here_ , he prays. _Please, please_.

"I don't mean to be nosy," Gemma starts, in a tone that means she's definitely going to be nosy, and Harry gulps, closes his eyes, waits for something, anything to happen. Anna coming over and pulling Gemma away for her tasting. A lightning bolt hitting him. Hell, even an alien invasion.

Her eyes dart from Harry, to over his shoulder, and Harry hears Louis draw in a sharp breath from behind him. Oh no, she saw Louis. This is bad. This is so bad.

"What are you doing here?" She asks, her voice deadly, her eyes narrowed at Louis.

Well. Fuck.

"Ha ha," Harry starts, playing it off. His hands are clammy, and he discreetly wipes them on his trousers. "Funny story."

Gemma's eyes dart back to his. "Tell me."

"There isn't much to tell, actually," Harry says, trying to deflect. Louis is still silent behind him, and Harry wants to hit him in the balls. Of course, the one time he needs Louis' famed wit is the one time Louis is silent, probably frozen in fear.

"Tell me." Gemma repeats, crossing her arms.

"Are you sure you want to hear it?" Harry asks desperately. "You might miss your schedule."

Gemma rolls her eyes. "I've got all the time in the world."

"That's great," Harry says enthusiastically. "Now you can do everything you want to! Skydiving, horseback riding, you know."

"Harry Edward Styles," Gemma says, and her voice is scary, threatening. Harry actually shakes from fear.

"Um, well, I just, I really like cake," Harry replies, stumbling over his words. "And this shop make such pretty cakes, so I went to look at them."

He hopes she doesn't call him out on his lie, but, well, fat chance of that happening.

Gemma tilts her head, her green eyes calculating, before zeroing in on Louis behind him. "Who's that behind you?"

Harry casts a wild glance back at Louis, who's looking at Harry with terrified blue eyes.

"What do you mean?" Harry says, playing innocent. He turns around again to face Gemma, blinks his eyes a couple of times for effect, trying to look confused. "There's nobody behind me."

"Yes, there is."

"No, there isn't," Harry insists. "You're seeing things."

"Harry," she says, slowly, like she's planning on killing him and selling all his organs in the black market, which is starting to be a distinct possibility. "Who's that behind you?"

"No one, Gemma," Harry says. "See, look."

He peeks over his shoulder, and, as he expected, comes face-to-face with Louis, who's staring at Gemma with wide, blue eyes. He pretends to gasp. "Oh my god," he says, a bit too exaggeratedly. Oops. "Who is this person? Are you a ghost?"

He doesn't think he sold it.

There's a pause, and then Louis' turning to glare at him. "Wow," he says flatly. "That was fucking horrible."

Yep, he definitely didn't.

"I'm sorry," Harry cries, throwing his hands up. "I really can't act, I just–"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence, because Gemma is moving lightning quick, snatching his left hand from the air. Harry winces at her vice-like grip, winces as she studies the ring on his finger, definitely not one of the rings she's seen before, seeing as, you know, he bought it last week.

"Harry Edward Styles." Her voice is sharp, with barely-concealed anger, and her nails dig into the skin of Harry's wrist. "I want a yes or no answer only. Are you, or are you not–" she shakes the hand in his grip "–engaged?"

Harry opens his mouth to come clean, to say _no, I'm not_ , when Anna is coming over, bright smile on her face.

"Oh!" She says, delightedly, clapping her hands. "Do you two know each other?"

Well, shit.

Harry promises karma that he'll never do anything like this again.

"Well?" Gemma asks, her voice seething. "Are you?"

And Harry doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to dig himself out of this mess, anymore.  Louis is practically useless, behind him, silent in a way that's so uncharacteristically him, so Harry does the only thing he can think of.

(In hindsight, he realizes what a terrible, terrible idea that was.)

He takes a deep breath, plasters a fake smile on his face, and says, "Surprise?"

Gemma looks at like she wants to stab him and throw his body in the nearest ditch.

He feels Louis bang his head against Harry's shoulder.  Harry elbows him hard, in the stomach; after all, this is his fault. All this is his fucking fault, because he was the one who wanted some free, snooty wedding cake, instead of, you know, just being happy with the ones Harry bakes.

Gemma  lets go of his hand, and Harry quickly hides it behind his back, pretending like doing that will undo the damage. She narrows her eyes at Harry, then turns to look at Louis, who's still standing behind Harry. And then she says, "Mum is _so_ going to murder you."

Which, yeah. Harry figures she will.

. . .

"This is all your fault," Harry seethes, pacing on the floor of their living room. Louis' sat calmly on the couch, watching him, which makes Harry even angrier. How can Louis be so calm about this? Now Gemma thinks he's _engaged_ , about to be married, and there's absolutely no way she's not going to tell their mum about this.  "All of it. All your fucking fault."

"What?" Louis whines. He picks up a throw pillow from their couch and throws it at Harry. "Why are you blaming me?"

Harry catches it and immediately launches it back, hitting Louis in the face. That makes him feel slightly better. "It was your idea! Everything was your fucking idea!"

"But that's just `cause I wanted free cake! How the fuck was I supposed to know your sister was there? Oh yeah," he rolls his eyes, "using my cool, _ghostly_ powers. I forgot."

Harry raises his hands defensively. "Hey, I did what I had to do."

"Did you really _think_ she'd fall for that?" Louis asks incredulously. "A _ghost_? Really, Harry?"

"Well, you didn't offer any genius ideas," Harry replies scathingly, crossing his arms. "If I recall correctly, you were just standing behind me, all quiet and un-Louis-like."

"Can you blame me?" Louis says, exasperated. "Your sister is fucking terrifying. I thought she was going to castrate me, right then and there."

"She probably would've," Harry replies, not even bothering to sugar coat it because Louis deserves that. He deserves all the fear in the world, and then a bit more, because Harry's feeling a little petty. "But not before slicing me open and selling all my organs to the black market." He winces. "Imagine, my poor kidneys making the rounds in the black market."

"Hey," Louis says, "at least you'd find out how much you're worth."

Harry looks at Louis flatly. "Do you really think that's the best way to do that?"

Louis just meets his gaze head-on. "Do you know of _any_ other way of figuring out each person's monetary value?"

"For your information, Louis, there is such a thing as 'net worth'." Harry sniffs.

"Right," Louis says sarcastically. "How silly of me to forget. With you being an 'internationally-famous photographer'–," he makes air quotes with his hands, "–you'd definitely have your own net worth. Sorry."

Harry shakes his head, suddenly feeling all the energy draining out of his body. He collapses beside Louis on the couch, and immediately, Louis cuddles up beside him, his body a warm comfort beside Harry's. He sighs, curling up and facing Louis.

"What am I going to do?" He moans, covering his face. "My sister thinks I'm _engaged_ , and soon my mum will too, and my stepdad, and my nan and everyone and I just," he breaks off, sighs. He feels strangely like crying. "I don't know."

"Hey," He hears Louis say gently. He feels one of Louis pulling his hands away from his face, until he can look straight into Louis' eyes. They're ridiculously blue in this lighting, kind of like the Caribbean, and the sight of them immediately relaxes Harry. "Is being fake-engaged to me _that_ bad?"

"No!" Harry replies immediately, his eyes widening. "No, no, no, of course _not_! You're brilliant, Louis. You're my best friend and there's no one else I'd rather be in this mess with, you know that. Anyone would be lucky to have you." He takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the lump that's forming in his throat. "I just don't like lying to my family."

"Does anyone?" Louis asks, a small smile on his face.

"I just don't want to disappoint them," Harry continues. "Or get their hopes up. I don't want them to think that I'm all engaged and stuff, when in reality I haven't had a date since the Palaeolithic era."

Well, okay. He's exaggerating a bit, but. The point remains.

Louis frowns. "I'm sure it hasn't been that long. What about Jeff? Didn't you date him?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, that wasn't. No." They weren't dating, they were just. Well. Harry doesn't actually really know. It was complicated. He's still confused about it until this day.

"Xander?"

"Nope," Harry says, shaking his head. "He just hung out with me `cause he was trying to get me to take pictures of him for his Instagram."

Louis laughs. "What a dick."

"Yeah." Harry sighs. "Lou, what am I going to do? If I come clean, Gemma will get even more mad at me for lying to her, and then my mum will find out I literally stole cake from the shop."

"You didn't steal anything," Louis says, running a hand down Harry's back.

"I did," Harry insists. "I'm a thief." He looks forlornly down his lap. "Prison is out there, waiting for me."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Okay, I don't know if you really feel this way, or you're just fucking with me."

"Hey," Harry pouts. "Don't invalidate my feelings."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "I'm not. But, honestly," he says. His hands move on to Harry's hair, playing with the short strands. "If you're honestly worried about all that, just remember what I said in the shop."

Harry racks his brain. "That I was just recovering from a fever and that I was uncomfortable being out and about?"

Louis furrows his brow. "What? No." His fingers are still carding through Harry's short hair, the movement familiar, reassuring. "You remember the weirdest things. No, I was talking about how it'll all be fine."

"Will it, though?" Harry hates how insecure he sounds.

"It will," Louis' voice is firm, steely, and his conviction makes Harry feel a _lot_ better. "If I have anything to say about that, it will be fine. I promise. You’re my best friend, Haz, and I've got your back, always."

 _Always_. The sure way Louis says it makes a warm feeling erupt in Harry's chest, makes him feel much more relieved and much safer. Suddenly, the lump in his throat is gone, and he feels like he can breathe again, feels like he can actually get through this mess that he got himself into.

He reaches over and pulls Louis into a hug. "Thank you," he says, nuzzling his face into Louis' hair. "Thank you so much, Lou."

Harry feels Louis pat him in the back. "Anytime, love."

Harry doesn't pull away, just enjoying the arms around him. Louis always gives the best hugs, better than anyone, and it always manages to make Harry feel better. Louis' hugs always make him feel whole, make him feel like no matter the trouble he finds himself in, he'll be able to find himself out of it.

He doesn't know how long they stay hugging on the couch, but he starts feeling vaguely put together again, like Louis' hugs have rejuvenating properties. He's about to pull away, to thank Louis again, maybe offer to buy him dinner or something, when his phone rings.

Harry screams into Louis' ear.

He pulls it out from his pocket, screams again when he sees the caller ID, and then passes it to Louis. Louis screams as he catches it, and then throws it back at Harry, who catches it and throws it back at Louis, like a game of hot potato.

"It's my mum," Harry whines, when Louis doesn't make the move to throw it again. "She's _calling_."

"Jesus, Harry," Louis grumbles. "You scared me." He turns the phone, so the screen is facing Harry. "Do you want to answer it?"

Harry whimpers. "No," he says. "Flush it down the toilet, please."

Louis gives him a look. "I'm not doing that. Come on, it's your lovely mum, talk to her."

Harry shakes his head. "You talk to her."

"And dig ourselves even deeper into our graves?" Louis asks. "I don't think so. Here, come on," He scoots closer to Harry, pressing their knees together, before placing the phone on the coffee table. "Let's put her on speaker."

 Harry takes a deep breath. "Okay, fine."

Louis answers the phone, pressing the button for the speakerphone and Harry stares down at his phone, wishing, praying, hoping that it was just a butt dial or something.

It's not.

" _Harry?_ " his mum's voice comes flooding through the speakers, and Harry winces, hides his face into Louis' shoulder. Louis, because he's the best, just pats him on the head.

"Yeah," he says, his face still buried in Louis' shoulder. "Hi mum."

" _Hello darling_ ," she says happily, and Harry relaxes, just a bit. She's doesn't _sound_ angry, so she probably doesn't know yet. " _How are you?_ "

Harry clears his throat. "I'm great, mum," he says, lifting his head off Louis' shoulder. "How are you?"

" _Oh, just fine_ ," she replies, and Harry can picture her smiling.

"How's Robin?"

" _He's doing great, love_." Maybe she really doesn't know. Maybe she just called to check up on Harry, like she always does. Maybe Harry was being paranoid for no reason at all.

" _So_ ," his mum starts, her voice still light and airy, and Harry grins, leaning closer to the phone. Hearing his mum all happy always makes him smile. " _What does Gemma mean when she says that you're engaged?_ "

The smile falls from Harry's face in record time. "I, um," he stammers. He looks at Louis for help, but Louis just looks at him wide-eyed, not daring to say anything. Which is probably smart. Letting his mum know that she's on speakerphone will just dig them deeper into the ten-feet hole they've already dug for themselves. "Gemma's lying."

" _Oh, is she now?_ " Her tone never falters; it's as if she's just discussing the weather. " _She said she saw you in a wedding cake store in London, with a boy and an engagement ring. Care to tell me about that?_ "

"No," Harry says.

" _Why not?_ "

"`Cause I wasn't in a wedding cake store," Harry says frantically. He racks his mind for an excuse. "That was probably a ghost."

That makes Louis snort, and he buries his face in his hands to stop himself from laughing. Harry can still see his shoulders shaking, and he reaches out to punch him in the arm.

" _Ah, yes,_ " his mum says. " _Gemma did say you thought you were in Paranormal Activity. A particularly bad version, but still._ "

"See," Harry says weakly.

There's a pause, and Harry can hear his mum shuffling around, probably trying to get comfortable. " _Baby,_ " she says, " _being in love is nothing to be ashamed of._ "

"I'm not in love, Harry denies.

" _In fact, I'm glad you found someone you want to spend the rest of your life with_ ," she continues, completely ignoring Harry. " _Now, tell me about him."_

"He's a ghost," Harry replies immediately. Louis elbows him in the ribs.

"Stop," he mouths when Harry looks over. Harry sticks his tongue out at him.

" _Harry, you know I don't have a problem with you being gay, but if you're going around fraternizing with ghosts, then you and I are about to have a long talk._ "

"Ghosts have feelings too, mum," Harry argues. "Imagine how they feel when people walk straight through them."

His mum sighs. " _Gemma said your boyfriend was cute._ "

"Yeah," Harry agrees, as Louis preens beside him. "Cute in a pretty, transparent way. `Cause you know, he _doesn't exist_."

" _What's he like_?" She asks, completely ignoring him.

Harry pretends to think. "Oh, you know, transparent," he says, glaring when Louis scoffs. "His skin is pale white, and ice cold. Can walk through walls. Sometimes I hear some chains rattling, sometimes some moaning. He's so funny."

Harry can literally hear his mum rolls her eyes. " _Harry,_ " she says. " _I know that he's right beside you, right now._ "

Harry blinks at the phone, wide-eyed. "No, he isn't."

" _I literally just heard him, Harry._ "

"That wasn't him, that was me," Harry says frantically. "Me, uh, farting. Yeah."

He _really_ shouldn't be left to make excuses.

Anne doesn't listen to him. Again. " _Hello?_ " She calls, completely ignoring as Harry tries to started  different points of conversation. " _Harry's fiancé, are you there? Please ignore my son, he just wants to big the biggest pain in the arse."_

"Hey," Harry says, insulted, the same time Louis murmurs, "oh I know."

Harry freezes. His makes a delighted sound over the phone.

" _What's your name?_ " She asks, and Louis turns to look at Harry wide-eyed.

"Sorry," he mouths, looking sheepish. Harry just shakes his head and gestures to the phone.

"Um, hello," Louis says tentatively. Harry watches as he moves closer to the phone, watches his long eyelashes brush against the top of his cheekbones. He really is quite good-looking. Anyone would be lucky to have Louis as a boyfriend.

" _Hi there, love_." She says. " _What's your name_?"

Louis fidgets beside Harry. "I'm Louis."

" _Hello, Louis,_ " She says, sounding way more excited than she should be. " _I'm Anne, lovely to meet you._ "

"Uh," Louis says, glancing at Harry. "Same."

" _I don't know why Harry has kept us apart like this,_ " his mum continues. _"How long have you known my son_?"

Louis clears his throat. "About, um, three years?"

" _Wow_." She sounds floored, like she can't wrap her head around that fact. " _Harry kept you from me for three years?_ "

"It's not like that, mum," Harry whines, before Louis can answer. "I didn't, we don't, he didn't have the _time."_

" _Well, he has to make time now_ ," she shoots back, immediately. " _He's going to be part of the family!_ "

"I am?" Louis asks, dumbfounded.

" _Yes_!" she squeals. " _You and Harry are engaged, after all_."

"We aren't–" Harry starts, but Anne interrupts him.

" _You have to come to the wedding_ ," his mum says. " _To Gemma's wedding. I'd love to meet you, see the man who wants to make an honest man out of my son_."

"I don't know," Harry jumps in, before Louis can say anything. "I think he's busy that weekend, mum."

" _Nonsense_ ," she  chides. " _I'm sure he can make time. You'll make time, won't you Louis?_ "

"I," Louis says, clearly thrown off-guard. Harry nudges him in the ribs, trying to remind him to respond with actual sentences. "Um, sure?"

" _Perfect!_ " She exclaims. " _I'll call Gemma, tell her to give you a seat on the table. I'm sure she'd love to meet you too. Properly._ "

"Right," Louis says, sounding a bit faint. He's probably remembering their (rather scarring) interaction earlier this afternoon. "Sounds, uh, great!"

Harry gives him a look. "Mum," he says, when Louis doesn't say anything else. "Mum, we have to go, we have to, uh, go do laundry."

" _Oh, you kids and your innuendos_ ," She replies, laughter in her tone, and both he and Louis sputter. " _I'll talk to you both soon! I absolutely can't wait to meet you, Louis._ "

"Love you, mum, bye," Harry manages to get out, amidst his sputtering. He hangs up the phone before his mum can say anything else.

It's silent for a bit, Harry and Louis digesting exactly what the fuck happened. Harry doesn't know how they've managed to dig themselves even deeper down the ground, but, they've done it. They really did it. They deserve an award, or something.

Louis must have come to the same conclusion as him because he's turning to face Harry, his blue eyes full of concern. "I think we fucked up," he says quietly.

Harry raises an eyebrow. "You think so?"

. . .

"We could break up," Louis suggests a week later, while they're cuddling on the couch, watching a romantic film. Harry's phone has been blowing up with calls the entire week, from his mum, who's made it her mission to try and get Louis on the phone again. She asks for him almost as soon as Harry picks up the phone, and Harry has to lie and tell him that Louis' out or at work, when really, he's just in the other room, hiding.

"Were we ever even together?" Harry wonders, as the main character starts crying again. She's cried for about twenty times already, and they're only a bit more than halfway on the film.

Louis elbows him. "No," he says. "Or yes, depending on whose point of view it is. We should pretend that we've been growing distant, and, two weeks before the wedding, you should call them up and tell them that we've broken up."

Harry pauses. The idea of lying to his family, yet again, doesn't sit well with him. Sure, he knows it's only to cancel out the lie they'd accidentally made, but he just doesn't like it. Who knows what else could happen. "Do we have any other options?"

"Our other option is me going with you to the wedding," Louis answers, "which ha, no, not happening. I'll have to see Gemma again, and you'll make me wear chains and pretend you just have a random ghost following you around the whole time."

"That actually sounds like a lot of fun," Harry muses. Louis hits him with the pillow.

"I'm just saying," Louis continues, as Harry pouts at him. "We either break up, say it wasn't working, or you bring me down there to meet your family and I, too, have to face their wrath when they ask why you didn't tell them you were _engaged_."

Harry pauses. "Is there no scenario in which _I_ don't have to face their wrath too?"

"Nope," Louis says smugly. "They're your family. Unless you don't go to the wedding. Then I'll see you and your kidneys in the black market. I'll buy one, in memory of you." He wipes a faux-tear away, and Harry kicks him. "Besides, an extra kidney will always come in handy. Look at Liam."

Harry snorts. "The lying motherfucker." Liam and his kidneys has always been a point of contention in their friendship group. Liam and Niall insist that his second kidney had magically reappeared, while Zayn, Harry and Louis hold the more scientific opinion of That Doesn’t Ever Happen. It's caused friendship rifts in the past.

Harry sighs, covers his eyes with his hands. "Breaking up really is the only way, isn't it?"

Louis shrugs. "We could also pretend you killed me."

Harry hits him with a pillow. "Stop making me into the criminal I'm not." He complains, when Louis bursts into laughter. "Fine. Fine. I'll call them two weeks before the wedding and say we broke up."

And that should be it, that _should_ be the end of it all, but it isn't. Harry does call Gemma two weeks before the wedding, as planned, to tell her the news, but it doesn't happen quite as he thought it would.

" _What do you mean, you broke up_ ," Gemma says, her voice deadly even over the line, and Harry swallows, prays for his soul.

"We've just been growing distant," Harry says, the words he'd practiced coming easily to him. "You know. We realized we didn't, uh, want the same things, and stuff."

" _You literally tried to buy a wedding cake two months ago_ ," Gemma deadpans. " _I ran into you there. Remember?_ "

Yes, sadly, Harry does.

 _"You can't say you've been growing distant,_ " she continues. " _Wedding cakes are a sign of commitment._ "

Harry frowns. "Yes, I can," he argues. "There's no manual for breaking up, is there? All break-ups happen differently."

" _Okay_ ," Gemma says, and Harry can literally hear her roll her eyes. " _So what happened?_ "

"He wanted to continue being a teacher," Harry says, "and I wanted to continue being a photographer."

" _...And?_ "

"That's just not compatible," Harry says, "I mean, I take pictures for a living and he teaches for a living, and that's just not going to _work_."

There's a pause, and then he hears Gemma sigh, over the line. " _That's shit. You're gonna have to do better to convince me."_

"It's the truth," Harry insists, huffing. He pauses, racks his brain for another reason. "Also he doesn't know how to do a single household chore."

" _Really?"_ Harry can hear the curiosity in her voice _._ " _How have you stayed with him for so long then?_ "

"I thought he'd learn," Harry says, pretending to be frustrated. It's the truth, at least partially. At the start of their cohabitation, _he_ did think Louis would learn, would eventually be able to cook and clean and do laundry and work the dishwasher. But it never happened, and soon, it became clear that life was much easier if Harry just did all the household chores.

Cementing that decision is what happened when Louis, as promised, did the laundry two months ago. Harry still doesn't understand how Louis managed to shrink his pants three sizes smaller. It might be a weird sort of magic.

" _And he didn't_?"

"No," Harry says. "Just weeks ago, he shrunk my pants, Gemma. I literally had to buy new pants because he shrunk my pants down to the size of a three year old's."

Gemma exhales. " _Wow. I still don't believe you about the break-up, but you do sound like you're telling the truth this time._ "

"I am," Harry insists. "Do you want photos?"

" _Of your tiny pants_?" Gemma asks. " _No thanks_."

Harry sighs. "So that's why we've broken up," he says, playing it up again. "I just can't live like that for the rest of my life, I just can't." It's a bit over the top but, well, he has to sell it.

Gemma makes a noise. " _Alright_ , _drama queen_ ," she says skeptically, and Harry does a fist pump. " _If you say so. So, he's not coming then_?"

And Harry's about to confirm, about to open his mouth and say yes, Louis isn't coming, when the front door bangs open and Louis strides in a flurry of noise and motion.

"Babe, I'm home," he shouts into the flat, dropping his bag loudly on the floor and kicking off his shoes. Harry stares at him, wonders what he did in a past life to deserve this. All he ever wanted was to get out of this entire thing, and yet the hole he and Louis had dug for themselves is apparently made out of quicksand.

Louis freezes when he sees Harry on the couch, phone pressed to his ear. "Um," he says sheepishly, looking down at his bare feet. "Oops?"

Harry wants to cry.

" _Is that Louis?_ " Gemma asks delightedly in his ear. " _You bloody liar, H! You almost had me going for a minute there."_

"No," Harry says. "Louis and I broke up, I told you. That's just my new dog."

" _A_ talking _dog_?"

"Don't make fun of it," Harry scolds her. "It's special."

Gemma snorts. " _Alright. So I'll see you and Louis two weeks from now_."

"No," Harry protests, but it sounds weak, even to him. "I told you, he's not coming. We broke up."

Gemma snorts. " _You're a shit liar, H. Always have been._ _Bye baby brother_ , _see you both in two weeks_!"

She hangs up before Harry can even say anything else, and Harry is left with the dial tone in his ear, and Louis still staring at him from across the hall.

"Why," he says, pained squeezing  his eyes shut and leaning back against the couch. "Why can't I get _out_ of this fucking mess?"

Louis doesn't say anything, simply goes to the phone and orders Chinese.

. . .

"So, I guess we'll go?" Louis asks later, when Harry has calmed down and eaten his weight in Chinese food. He plays with this chopsticks, spearing another piece of chicken and pops it in his mouth. "I mean, I wouldn't mind. We could make it an adventure."

Harry observes him, watches him, seated across from him on their old living room carpet, with a container of food on his lap. He's fidgeting, avoiding meeting Harry's gaze–he probably knows that Harry's mad at him for ruining the one chance they had to get out of this situation. And he's not wrong, Harry is definitely very mad. Harry wants to strangle him and castrate him and smack him upside the head.

But he's also Harry's best friend, and despite everything, despite all the fuck-ups and the plot twists and _everything just not playing out the way it should_ , he'd still rather be stuck in this situation with Louis than any of the other boys. He's got Harry's back, and in a weird, abstract way, he knows they'll be able to get out of this situation,  together.

Harry sighs. "We're going," he says resignedly, his shoulders slumping.

Oh well. There are definitely worse ways to spend the weekend than pretending to be engaged to his best friend.

. . .

"Tell me again," Harry orders. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel to the song on the radio–it's familiar; he thinks he's heard Louis singing it in the shower once or twice–before trying to catch Louis' eye in the rear view mirror. "Louis."

Louis sighs loudly, with his whole body. "I'm going to follow you around." He recites monotonously. He's not looking at Harry; instead, he's looking out the window, watching the cars pass. "And when you're not looking, I'm going to get drunk on wine and eat all the cake and maybe try to snog your nan."

Louis is _not_ funny. "Louis," he scolds. "Please."

"I've got it Harry," Louis huffs, thunking his head against the window. "I got it the first time you briefed me, the second time, and even the thirtieth time. And yes–" He says, when Harry opens his mouth to interrupt. "It really _has_ been thirty times. I counted."

 Harry closes his mouth.

"And I know you don't want to mess this whole thing up," Louis continues. "Neither do I, if I'm being honest, partly because I don't want you to cry, but mostly because Gemma is there and she'll have my balls chopped off for lying to her–"

"Wow," Harry interrupts sarcastically.

"–but it really will be fine, Haz, I promise. I'll be the best-behaved boyfriend–sorry, _fiancé_ –ever, and then in a few weeks, when they start clamouring for our wedding date, you can tell them I went and left you for Liam, like we discussed."

"We did _not_ discuss the 'leaving me for Liam' part."

"But that'll make it all the more dramatic," Louis insists, turning to face Harry. "And then your entire family will feel horrible talking about me and I'll be 'The-One-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' in the Styles-Twist household. And when anyone so much as hints about you finding a new boyfriend you can just go and say you're still hung up on me."

"I don't know if I should be impressed with how far ahead you've thought about this," Harry says, "or call you out on your major ego boost."

"You can do both," Louis says flippantly. "Either way, I _will_ behave. Pinky-promise."

"Remember what happened the last time you did that?"

"It's hard to forget," Louis replies. "But really, Haz." He holds out his pinky to Harry. "I promise to be the be the best, most well-behaved fiancé you will ever have."

Harry glances at Louis. His eyes are wide, hopeful, and he's dressed in one of Harry's old jumpers and a pair of sweats. His hair is soft on his forehead, slightly mussed up, and he looks comfortable, soft and cuddly in the passenger seat of Harry's car, and Harry feels his heart swell a thousand sizes larger.

"It's not like you have any competition," Harry replies, as he locks his pinky around Louis'. "You're the only fiancé I've ever _had_."

“But still," Louis insists. He shakes their joined pinkies once, before pulling away. "I want to be so well-behaved that when you have one, in the near future, you'll take one look at him and think, _my Louis was so much more behaved than this_."

 _My Louis_. Harry doesn't know why his heart suddenly reacts to the pronoun. After all, it's the truth, isn't it? Louis is, in a way, his. His roommate, his best friend, his fake-fiancé. The pronoun is very much warranted.

It's probably just the nerves.

"Looks like I'll grow old alone, then," Harry jokes, trying to ignore the way his heart is racing in his chest. "Seeing as you just set _such_ high standards for my future fiancé."

"Don't worry," Louis says. He's smiling–Harry can tell he's smiling, just by the sound of his voice. "You'll always have me."

Harry's heart goes haywire in his chest. "Yeah," he says, his voice level."Hopefully."

. . .

Gemma comes running out to meet them the instant they pull into the driveway of Harry's childhood home, a blur of bright yellow streaking down the front porch. Harry and Louis look at each other, wide-eyed, before Harry takes a deep breath, steels himself, and gets out of the car.

"Jesus, Gemma," he says, when Gemma completely bypasses him in favour of Louis, who's standing on the other side of the car. " _Chill_."

"I'm the bride," Gemma shoots back, as she holds Louis out at arms-length. "I _have_ no chill." Harry watches as she studies Louis closely, her eyes glancing over every part of Louis she can see.

"Um," Louis hedges, after a few minutes. "What are you doing?"

"Just wanted to make sure that Harry brought the same guy," Gemma says, taking a step back. She holds a hand out for Louis to shake. "Harry, here, has a history of lying."

"I do not," Harry protests, but Gemma completely ignores him.

"I can't believe Harry lied to us about you for three years,"  she says, and Harry watches as they shake hands. "But it's nice to finally, _properly_ meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too," Louis replies, smiling nervously. "Congratulations on your wedding."

"Thank you," Gemma says, smiling back at him. She drops Louis' hand, takes one step forward. "But, let's just be clear," she says, her voice pitched low, threatening, and Harry can see Louis' Adam's Apple bob. "If you hurt my baby brother, I _will_ cut your balls off. Don't think that I won't."

Louis grins shakily. "Noted."

Harry feels bad. "Gemma," he calls. "Please don't scare him off."

"He doesn't seem like the type to scare easy," Gemma replies, and then she's moving to the other side of the car to launch herself onto Harry. "Nice to see you again, loser. Mum's inside, probably peeking through the curtains."

Harry chances a look up the house. Sure enough, one of the curtains on the window moves, and he can see his mum's eye peeking out from the side of it.

He laughs. "Well," he says, "we should probably head in, shouldn't we?"

"Probably." Gemma pulls away, turning to march up the house. Harry and Louis exchange another glance before they follow her, Louis fitting himself beside Harry, Harry placing a reassuring hand on his lower back.

"You alright?" He whispers into Louis' ear. "She really is terrifying, isn't she?"

He feels Louis nod in response. "I'm fine," he murmurs, as they move closer and closer the front door. "Let's just get this over with."

His mum is seated on the couch when they enter, on scrolling through her phone, acting like she wasn't peeking out the window just minutes before. "Oh, hello!" She pushes herself to her feet immediately, going over to hug Harry. "Harry, love! You look taller!"

Harry is pretty sure he hasn't grown a centimetre since he moved to London. "Hi, mum," he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"And are you eating properly?" She asks, frowning. She pulls away to observe him, looking over every part of him. "You look thinner." She pinches his cheek. "But still handsome, as always."

"Mum," he laughs, swatting her hand away. "I'm fine."

"I know," She says, placing her hands on her chest. She's a bit teary, which happens whenever she sees Harry. "It's just that, my baby's all grown up." She says, her voice choking on the words. Harry doesn't want her to cry; it's too early for her to be crying. "Aren't you going to introduce me to Louis?"

"You've already met him," Harry says, but he presses another kiss to his mum's cheek before stepping back. "Mum, this is Louis."

She smiles winningly at him. "It's nice to _properly_ meet you," she says, as she goes over to hug him. "Gemma was right, you _are_ cute!"

Louis laughs. "Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Twist."

His mum laughs, waving a hand. "Oh, please, call me Anne," she says. "Mrs. Twist makes me sound like an old fart. Now, you must be tired from your drive."

"We're alright," Louis tries to say, but gets shushed.

"Nonsense," she says. "I'll let you two rest, get settled in before we talk." She gives Harry a meaningful look, and Harry winces slightly, shrugs. "Dinner's at seven, so I fully expect to see the both of you there."

"We'll be there," Harry promises. He fits his hand on Louis' lower back again, and Harry watches as Anne takes note of the movement, her eyes bright, before shooing them off to their room.

. . .

Louis falls asleep on the bed after a quick conversation about sleeping arrangements, and after a few minutes of (not creepily) watching Louis sleep, he decides that he should probably go talk to his mum. He finds her in the kitchen, cooking dinner, and he doesn't even hesitate in sidling up to her.

"Need any help?" He asks.

His mum hums. "Could you cut those carrots up for me, please?"

They work in comfortable silence for about two hours, his mum working on the pot roast, and Harry doing small tasks she tells him to. They don't speak until the roast is simmering, and the mashed potato and vegetables are finished, ready to be served.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She asks, straight to the point, and the tone of her voice makes Harry's heart splinter into a thousand pieces.

He feels bad. He hates making her sound like that, hates it when his mum is hurt or close to crying, and seeing her like this right now, sad at being left out of what she thinks is life-changing news, makes Harry angry at himself.

"I'm sorry, mum," he says, feeling guilty.

"Baby," she says. "You know I just want you to be happy, right?"

Harry's throat feels dry. "I know."

"I just, I feel so bad that you didn't tell me," she continues. "Tell _us_. And I can't think of any reason _why_. Is it because you don't want him to meet us? That you're ashamed of us?"

Harry feels like the worst child in the world. "Mum, mum, no," he says, going over to hug her. "I didn't tell you, because, well, it was kind of a split second thing." He leaves out the fact that he isn't _actually_ engaged, because he's pretty sure revealing that fact right now will just make the situation worse. "We wanted to, um, keep it a secret, at first, but then, it kind of went out of hand."

"But you were already buying wedding cake," His mum replies. She leans her head against Harry's shoulder. "You were already _planning_ a wedding."

"No, mum," Harry soothes. "We weren't really planning it, we were just looking at cake flavours. Louis really likes cake, see, considers it to be the most important thing in a wedding, and so we went to check the cake flavours out."

She sniffs, and Harry hopes that she's not crying. He _really_ doesn't like it when she cries. Especially when she's crying for no reason at all.

"Of course we would've invited you to the wedding," Harry continues. "You and Gemma, and Robin and Dad, and nan and Aunt Jess, even. Even Uncle Matt." He makes a face. "I mean, if you wanted."

He feels his mum's shoulders shake from laughter, and Harry laughs too. He hugs his mum tighter, realizes how small she is, realizes how much larger he is, compared to her.

It's a very disconcerting thought, because when Harry was a kid, he always thought of her as someone so big, someone so untouchable. Somewhat like a superhero, with super strength and a resolve of steel, someone who'd protect him no matter what.

And Harry knows she would, has no doubt about it–after all, she single-handedly raised Gemma and Harry, protected them from the different father figures that have come and gone in their life, but seeing her like this makes him realize that she's human; that she's tiny and that sometimes, she needs someone to protect her, too.  And it occurs to Harry that maybe sometimes, she just needs to be held, reassured that the children she's raised, the children who now have their own lives separate from her, won't forget about her.

"I wouldn't want to go and get married without you, mum," he says honestly.

They stay locked in an embrace for a while, before she's pulling away, wiping the tears off her face. "I'm sorry for crying, H," she says. Her eyes are still watery, but she's smiling, which is much better, in Harry's book. "I just, I love you so much, you know that? Just want to see you happy."

"I know."

They stay smiling at each other for a few minutes, before Anne is turning back to the pot roast. "Oh, alright," she says, laughing. "Dinner'll be ready soon."

Harry laughs. "Guess I better wake Louis up," he says. "Fell asleep the instant his back hit the bed."

"While you're up there, go call Gemma and Brad, too," she tells him.

"I will," he says, and then he presses a kiss to her cheek. "I love you."

"Love you too, baby." She smiles at him, before sending Harry off. He knocks on Gemma's door first, telling her that dinner's ready–he doesn't go in, because who knows what he'll find in there–before making his way to his room to wake Louis up.

He's still asleep when Harry enters the room, but this time, he's curled up, right in the middle of the bed. Harry watches his chest move as he breathes, watches as he mumbles something and nuzzles into the pillow, and he looks so _cute_ like this, so soft and warm that Harry doesn't have the heart to wake him. Doesn't want to, if he's being honest. Just wants to curl up beside him and sleep.

It's almost time for dinner, though, and he owes his mum this much. "Hey," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. He places his hand on Louis' arm, shakes it gently. "Lou."

Louis' eyelashes flutter minimally, before he's mumbling and hiding his face on the bed.

"Wake up," Harry says, shaking his arm a bit harder now. "It's almost time for dinner."

Louis yawns. "Five more minutes," he mumbles into the bed sheet.

Harry rolls his eyes. "Lou."

Louis doesn't respond.

Harry sighs, eyes Louis' position on the bed, and decides to flop down on top of him.

"Mmm–what the _fuck_ ," Louis whines, trying to push Harry off. "Get off me, Harry."

Harry pushes himself further down the bed, makes himself heavier. "Wake up," he says loudly, into Louis' ear. "Come _on_ , dinner's almost ready."

Louis huffs, shifting beneath Harry. "You are such a pain," he whines, wriggling until he's lying on his back. He yawns, one hand coming up to cover his mouth, and Harry can't help but coo.

"You look like a little kitten," he teases, and one of Louis' hands smack him on the nose.

"Say that again and I'll fuck you up," Louis threatens weakly. Harry watches as Louis rubs his eyes, watches as he wakes up slowly, in bits and pieces–watches as Louis stretches, blinks blearily up at Harry. "Oh."

"Oh." Harry hadn't realized their proximity, hadn't realized how close they were. He hadn't realized that he could feel every part of Louis beneath him, hadn't realized that he could feel Louis' breath against his lips. Hadn't realized that he could count each strand of Louis' eyelashes, hadn't realized that he could see the little specks of green in Louis' blue eyes.

Hadn't realized that how close their faces are; so close that he doesn't have to lean far to brush his lips against Louis'.

That thought makes him freeze. He can't do that. Shouldn't do that. Shouldn't _want_ to do that, even. He and Louis are just best mates. Best mates pretending to be engaged for a weekend, after a colossal fuck up. He shouldn't want to lean down and kiss his best mate.

The entire fake engagement thing is probably just fucking with his mind.

Yeah, that's it.

The corner of Louis' mouth quirks up. "Hey," he says softly.

Harry swallows. "Hey," he replies, just as softly, before rolling off of Louis.

. . .

"So, Louis," His mum starts, from across the table. Her eyes are bright, excited–Harry knows she's enjoying this chance to get to know Louis. "What is it that you do? Every time I call, Harry always says you're busy working."

"Oh," Louis says. "I'm a teacher."

Her eyes grow brighter, seemingly pleased with the answer. Gemma is, too, by the way she shoots Harry a begrudgingly impressed look. " What do you teach?"

"Drama," Louis replies, looking down at his plate.

His mum, if anything, seems to grow more impressed with Louis. "So you teach them Shakespeare and all that, then?"

Louis laughs. "Among other things, yes," he replies. "I teach them plays and how to study them, yes, but I like to think I'm teaching them other things, too."

"Like what?" She asks, curious.

"I like to think I'm teaching them life lessons, as well," Louis answers. "Most plays have a story, and I think that, in extension to studying the dramatic structure –you know, the exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, resolution–I'm also able to teach them how to connect and empathize, you know, with the characters and with each other." He takes a sip of water, and Harry feels a sense of pride surge up his chest. "I also like that it teaches children to be creative, to think creatively, whether it's in designing a backdrop, redoing a staging, reinterpreting a line, or finding unconventional solutions to the different problems we encounter. And," he adds, looking down to spear a piece of roast onto his fork, "I think drama also teaches kids important psychological ideas about ourselves–who we are, what we think, feel, and act, versus what we say or do. I like that I'm able to teach them that, at least a bit of that." He laughs. "Sorry for rambling, I'm just really passionate about what I do."

There's a silence wherein his mum and Gemma stare at Louis, stunned. Harry bites his lip, reaches out to grip Louis' hand under the table.

"I can tell," His mum finally says, smiling, and Harry feels Louis squeeze his hand. "That's actually rather amazing, Louis."

"It's nothing, really," Louis says modestly. He glances at Harry, his blue eyes sparkling. "Harry doesn't think it's all that great."

Harry frowns at him. "Hey," he says. "When you practiced that speech in front of me, I gave you a standing ovation."

The entire table laughs, and Louis squeezes his hand again, before letting go. Harry tells himself he doesn't miss the contact.

"So," Gemma says, after the table settles down. She leans forward. "How did Louis propose?"

Immediately, Harry feels himself stiffen. He exchanges a glance with Louis, who looks back at him, similarly thrown off-guard. They didn't discuss this, didn't discuss much of _anything_ , if he's being honest, and Harry doesn't know how he's going to pull out a suitably romantic proposal out of his arse.

"Come on, now," Gemma says, when the silence becomes too long. "Don't be shy. It's probably not as romantic as mine and Brad's, but I bet it's suitably romantic enough."

"That's because no one can beat my romantic proposal, babe," Brad pipes up from beside Gemma. "It was so romantic, I made you cry."

"Did not," Gemma argues, but she's smiling all the same. "Alright, come on then, boys, tell us the details."

Harry opens his mouth, about to say something about a candlelit dinner–he _really_ doesn't want to lie anymore, but well, desperate times call for desperate measures–when Louis beats him to it. "It was at home," he says, shrugging nonchalantly. "By the couch." He seems to realize what he just said. "Oh, um, `cause we...sort of live together?"

"I figured," His mum replies. "Go on."

"Right, so, I came home from work one day, all excited," Louis continues, and Harry just stares at him, trying to get Louis to look at him, to let him in on the plan. "And he was seated on the couch, on his laptop."

Louis turns to him then, completely at ease. "He was looking at pictures he'd taken for work," he prompts, apparently trying to jog a memory in Harry's brain. Harry doesn't remember, doesn't recall–there've been more than a hundred instances in the past year where he's sat on their couch looking at pictures he'd taken for work, and he doesn't know which one Louis is talking about.

But then the blue in Louis' eyes is screaming _trust me_ , and Harry can't think of a reply except _okay_.

"And I barged in, dropped my stuff, and said, 'guess what I found out!'" He says, a pointed look at Harry. Harry racks his memory for the time Louis said that, and realizes–

–and realizes, the time Louis said that was the same time he'd found out the shop was giving away free wedding cake samples, the same time this entire mess started.

The same time he fake proposed to Harry to get free cake, and Harry said no.

"He asked me what, and I told him to guess," Louis continues. "And–"

"And I didn't, because I'm a horrible guesser," Harry interrupts, finally on the same page. Louis finally turns to him, a tiny, strange smile on his face, one that Harry takes as confirmation.  "So he told me a weird, dramatic story, something about a boy and a cake shop–"

"I wanted him to realize that I was in love with him," Louis says, smiling. "So, so in love with him. That I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. Anyway, he didn't, because he can be adorably slow, sometimes–not that I don't love him all the same–so I ended up on my knees, asking him to marry me," Louis says, smiling. "He said–"

"No, of course," Harry says, grinning. He raises an answering eyebrow to Louis' challenging one. "I said no, because he said it all monotonous–"

"I did not," Louis huffs, but he's still smiling.

"–And he didn't even have a ring," Harry says incredulously. He widens his eyes for emphasis. "No ring, and a boring proposal, how did he expect me to say yes? So, I didn't, and the next day–"

The next day, Louis had woken him up by jumping on his bed and slipping one of the brand new rings from Harry's bedside table onto his finger.

"Here," he said. "Use this as the fake engagement ring."

Harry then mumbled in agreement, pulled Louis down onto his bed, and went back to sleep, his arms tight around Louis to stop him from moving.

"The next day," Harry continues, "while I was sleeping, he slipped a ring on my finger. Turns out he had a ring, he was just hiding it."

The blue in Louis' eyes twinkle. "I don't know why he thought the first one was serious proposal. It's like he doesn't know me."

"It's `cause you're a man of many surprises," Harry replies, blinking innocently at him. "Anyway, he slips the ring on my finger, wakes me up by jumping on the bed, and asks me, right then and there. I said yes, of course–" he flashes his fake engagement ring, the band sitting on his finger, "–and then we went back to sleep." He shrugs. "It's not very romantic, sorry."

"Wow," Louis says, laughing. "Way to insult a guy's proposal."

Harry winks at him. "I'm still going to marry you, aren't I?"

"It's romantic, H," Gemma interrupts, and shit, Harry had sort of forgotten she was here. Had sort of forgotten everyone else was here, too wrapped up in the Harry-and-Louis bubble they're prone to fall into. "It's really sweet and domestic. But I still like mine better, sorry."

"As you should," Harry says. He turns to his mum. "Mum?"

"It's an adorable proposal," she says. Her eyes are dance under the fluorescent, pleased and knowing. "It's really sweet."

Harry finds himself flushing. "Thanks, mum." His hand finds Louis' beneath the table.

"But, really," She says, "nothing beats Robin's proposal to me."

Robin, who had been silent the entire time, laughs heartily. "Of course, dear," he says. "There's no competition. Mine was the most romantic."

Harry watches as he grabs her hand, presses a kiss onto the top of her knuckles. His mum smiles at him, fondly, before pulling her hand away. "Dessert, anyone?"

"Oh, no, thank you." Brad says. "I have to get going, actually, I'm meeting the boys down at the club." He pushes away from the table, presses a kiss on Gemma's cheek. "You know, last few nights of being single, better make the most out of it." He waggles his eyebrows at Gemma teasingly, and Gemma slaps his arm.

"Please," she says, rolling her eyes. "Haven't you heard? Being married is all the rage, now."

"I know," he grins at her. "That's why  I'm getting me one of those spouses on Sunday." He turns to Harry. "Sure you don't want to join us? We've got bottle service."

"Oh, that's okay," Harry says, shrugging. "I don't want to leave Louis."

Louis scoffs. "I'm not a child," he says. "I'll be fine being left alone for a few hours."

Harry pouts. "But I'll miss you too much, Lou," he says, pretending to sulk, and Gemma coos from across the table.

"Ah, young love," she sighs happily, propping her chin up with her hand.

"No elbows on the table, Gemma Anne," his mum scolds.

"You could bring him," Brad interrupts, before the conversation can devolve even further. "There's enough space for the both of you to tag along."

"Thank you, but I think Louis is tired," Harry replies.

Louis turns to him, an eyebrow arched. "Am I?" He asks, doubt in his tone, and Harry blinks at him.

"You literally fell asleep the instant we got here."

"Which is why I'm well-rested now," Louis says, his mouth quirked up at the corner, and, okay, Harry can't argue really argue with that.

"Do you want to go?"

"Can we?" Louis answers, his grin spreading. "I haven't been properly out in years. Plus," he adds, waggling his eyebrows, "I want to see the places where little Harry went when he was on the prowl."

Harry laughs. "I didn't–you know what, okay, fine," he pinches Louis' thigh under the table, feels his smile widen when Louis pinches back. "We'll come."

"That's great," Brad says happily. "The more the merrier. We'll leave in a few minutes, so you both still have time to get ready. Thank you for dinner," he says, addressing Anne, and then he's gone, off to get ready.

"Well?" His mum says, and Harry jumps when he realizes that she's addressing him. She smiles at him, her dimples digging in her cheeks. "You both should get ready too."

"We should," Harry agrees. He stands, makes his way around the table to kiss her on the cheek. "I'll see you later, mum."

"Thank you for dinner," Louis adds, as he stands. "It was lovely."

She waves a hand. "Oh, of course, love. Now go have fun, the both of you." She shoos them off, and Louis is grabbing his hand, tugging him up the stairs.

. . .

"That was quick thinking, back there," Harry shouts in Louis' ear, a few hours later. They're in the club–a recently opened one, much to Harry's delight and Louis' disappointment. And despite everything, despite the music and the company and the alcohol already in Harry's veins, making his head spin, he can't seem to stop thinking about Louis, can't stop thinking about the way he pulled an entirely fabricated, and yet completely truthful proposal out of his arse.

"What?" Louis shouts back in Harry's ears. Under the strobe lights, he looks to be made of neon and shadow, and Harry watches hazily as Louis takes a sip of his drink, leaving his lips glistening.

"I _said_ –" and Harry catches sight of his fingers drumming to the beat of the music, "–that was quick thinking back there."

"Back where?" Louis replies, the blue in his eyes looking almost purple. "You have to be more specific, Haz."

"With my mum and Gemma," Harry clarifies, still watching Louis with hooded eyes. He feels pleasantly buzzed–warm and cuddly, and he wants to bury his face into Louis' neck. "The entire proposal thing."

"Of course," Louis replies, his neck looking more and more comfortable by the second, and Harry doesn't even think, just leans his head against Louis' shoulder, hides his face against Louis' skin. "Just told them what they wanted to hear."

Harry swallows. "Still," he says, to Louis' neck. "Thank you. I know we didn't really discuss, well, anything, but that was–that was good."

"Told you I had your back, didn't I?" And suddenly Harry realizes doesn't want to talk anymore, doesn't want to shout over the pounding of the music and try to be heard. Doesn't want to socialize with Brad and his friends, who are a few metres away from them, laughing about an inside joke or something. Doesn't want to do much of anything, if he's being honest, except cuddle up with Louis and sleep.

Louis pulls at a strand of his hair. "Tired, babe?"

Harry shakes his head the best he can. "Nah," he says. He's got his eyes trained on Louis' hand, drumming patterns on the table. "You?"

"Nope. Wanna dance, if I'm being honest."

"Oh." Harry pulls away, frowning. The idea of Louis dancing with a stranger, of grinding up to them is strangely unappealing. Harry swallows, forces himself to push down the sudden nausea. "You should go dance, then."

Louis laughs, shakes his head. "No," he says, "I wanna dance with _you_ ," and _oh_.

Okay.

"Okay," Harry murmurs mostly to himself, and then louder, "okay."

Louis laughs again. "You don't have to, if you don't want to."

"No, I-I want to," Harry stutters, and he realizes that he's not even lying. He wants to dance with Louis. Wants to jump around with him on the dance floor, wants to twirl and spin him and dance until their feet ache, which is a funny thought because Harry has two left feet and he doesn't like dancing, can't do it properly to save his life.

But with Louis, he's willing to try.

"Okay," Harry says again. He pushes himself into a standing position and grabs Louis' hand. "Let's dance."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "I've never seen you this excited to dance," he comments, but pulls Harry into the throng, finds an empty spot on the dance floor.

And Harry knows that Louis can dance, has seen him dance countless times, but the sight of Louis dancing always manages to steal the breath from his lungs. Louis dances like he was made for the music, dances like he's got eternities to do so. He dances like he's somewhere else, like he's _not_ in a club in boring Cheshire but in a prairie–spinning and twirling and putting his hands up in time to the music. The strobe lights cooperate with him; illuminate him in time to a song that Harry _despises_ , but Harry realizes he might just grow to love it, if it makes Louis look like this–singing, dancing, laughing without a care in the world.

They dance until they're tired, until sweat is soaking the front of their shirts, and then it's not even a question–they leave everyone else behind, stumble out of the club and onto the streets, hand-in-hand. Louis doesn't pull his hand away and Harry doesn't let go, and it's starting to be a pattern, this, grabbing each other's hands and never letting go, but Harry is a bit drunk on alcohol and a whole lot drunk on the night and he finds he doesn't mind, much.

"Thank you," Harry tells him later, when the sun is starting to rise. They're seated on a pair of swings Harry had played on when he was growing up, and Harry feels like it's kind of fitting, his best mate from London seated on a relic of his childhood, seated on something that's a _part_ of Harry, no matter how miniscule that part was.

"For what?" Louis asks, yawning. His eyes are half-lidded, the events of the previous day catching up on him, and Harry knows it's time to go home, but he stretches it out a bit, keeps the night from ending, if only for a little while.

"For being  here," he says. He kicks off the sawdust, lets himself swing for a bit. "For doing this stupid whole charade with me."

There's a silence that falls, in which lifetimes play out, and Harry holds his breath, does his best not to make a sound. He doesn't know what he's waiting for, but he thinks it might be important.

"Of course," Louis murmurs eventually, so softly that Harry has to strain to hear him. "Thank you for being my best friend."

. . .

Harry wakes up sweating.

He can feel the back of his shirt plastered to his skin, can feel rivulets of sweat dripping from his neck down onto his back, and behind him, he feels Louis shift on the bed, his arms tightening and relaxing from where they're wrapped around Harry's waist.

Harry closes eyes, tries to go back to sleep, finds that he can't, the call of nature getting stronger per second.

"Good morning," he decides to say, loud enough to wake Louis.

Louis stirs minimally, his eyelashes fluttering. His arms tighten around Harry's waist, pulling him closer, and Harry has a brief thought of staying still, of letting Louis sleep, but it really _is_ hot, being pressed against Louis like this and he really needs to go to the bathroom.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" He says even louder, and giggles when Louis groans and finally lets go of Harry, rolling over to look at the ceiling. "Are those birds I hear? Don't have that in London, do we, Lou?"

Louis stays staring at the ceiling, so still that Harry worries he might've just fallen asleep again. "You are _such_ a shit, Harry." His voice is sleep-heavy, raspy, and  Harry doesn't know why it makes his heart beat faster in his chest.

"As if you haven't done the same," Harry shoots back. He pulls his shirt off, holds it up to see the sweat stain at the back. "Look, it's so wet."

Louis laughs, sounding a bit strained. "Put your shirt back on."

"But it's hot," Harry says, turning around on the bed to check what's wrong with Louis. Louis' still staring at the ceiling, looking at it like it has all the answers to the mysteries of the universe, and Harry uses this time to observe him. His hair is all messy, reminding Harry of a porcupine, and the front of his shirt is stuck to his skin with sweat. There's a pillow on his stomach, his legs are tangled in the blankets and–

" _Oh_." Harry exclaims delightedly, when it dawns on him. " _Louis._ " Because the pillow, he realizes, isn't actually just _on_ his stomach, it's covering something.

Louis groans. "Harry," he begs, already sure of what Harry's going to say and trying to stop him. "Please don't."

"It's normal, you know," Harry continues, still grinning. He wonders why he didn't notice, considering he had most of Louis pressed up against him just minutes before."It happens to the best of us."

Louis turns his head to shoot him a sleepy glare. "I know it's normal, you fucker."

"Then you know it's nothing to be ashamed of," Harry says. The thought of Louis' erection pressing against him makes his heart race, and he wills himself to stay calm. "Sometimes, when we sleep, our bodies–"

Louis groans loudly, interrupting Harry on his tangent. "Stop it, Harry," he says, picking up the pillow on his stomach to hit Harry with it.

"You didn't have to cover it, you know," Harry says, laughing, and Louis just rolls his eyes, shifts to a better position on the bed, and hits Harry with the pillow again.

He doesn't stop hitting Harry until Harry can't breathe, calling 'mercy' out five times, and even then he hits Harry once before tossing the pillow towards the foot of the bed.

Harry tries to catch his breath. "Why'd you cover it?" He asks, because he doesn't know how to leave things well enough alone.

Louis gives him a look. "I'm pretty sure you don't want to see my dick at–" he cranes his neck to check the time, "–nine in the morning, Haz."

"I wouldn't mind," Harry answers. "It's a really pretty dick."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "Have you even seen my dick before?"

"No, but I can imagine it."

"Do you go around imagining everyone's dicks then, Harry?"

"No," Harry answers, pushing himself to a sitting position on the bed. "Only yours, Lou."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Flattering." He gets off the bed, going to his bag to rummage through his things. Harry tells himself that he's not staring at the curve of Louis' arse, just...appreciating it. Because Louis has one of the best arses in the world, and if he can't appreciate that, then he's not human.

Louis whirls around, and Harry doesn't think he pulls his eyes away quick enough. "I," Louis says, eyes glinting, "am going to use the bathroom first, because I deserve it, after dealing with you this morning."

Harry suddenly remembers that he really needs to pee. "But I need a wee."

"Well then," Louis says. "Hold it."

"Louis." Harry pouts.

"No."

"Please?"

"No, Harry."

"Pleeeeease?" He's pretty sure he can't do the puppy dog eyes as well as Louis does, but he tries to, tilting his head and blinking his eyes the same way he's seen Louis do. It seems to work, though, because Louis is sighing, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"Fine," he says. "Go wee."

"Yay," he squeals, jumping off the bed. He presses a quick kiss onto Louis' cheek. "Think of me when you're wanking, okay?"

He probably deserves it when Louis kicks him on the bum.

. . .

After breakfast, Gemma and Anne have to do some last minute wedding duties, so Louis, because Harry _knows_ he wants to get back at him from this morning, selflessly volunteers them. The two of them end up in the back seat of Gemma's car, surreptitiously elbowing each other, and getting asked for their opinion on the flowers, the dress, and, for some reason, being sent out to buy cucumbers.

"I don't think that's hard enough," Louis says loudly, loud enough for everyone at the shop to turn to them. "You really gotta grasp it, Harry, feel it from root to tip."

Harry is pretty sure he's bright red. "Louis," he hisses, stealing the cucumber from Louis' hands. "You don't even know shit about grocery shopping."

"I do too," Louis says, affronted. He snatches the cucumber back from Harry, and apparently 'feels' the cucumber from root to tip. He just looks like he's jerking off the cucumber, if Harry's being honest. "I go to the shop sometimes, when you're not around."

Harry is going to have an aneurysm. "And what do you buy?" He asks, grabbing the cucumber from Louis again and dropping it into their grocery basket.

"Oh you know," Louis says. "Cereal." He picks up another cucumber, taps it against his lower lip. Harry tries not to think about what mental images that gives him. "Pot noodles. Basic necessities, really."

"Ah, yes." Harry gets the cucumber from Louis, resigning himself to the fact that they now have to buy it, if only for sanitary purposes. "That's why we never seem to run out of pot noodles, and we have three boxes of cereals that you don't even eat."

"Hey," Louis answers, insulted. "I do eat them." He crosses his arms. "I mix them up, you _know_ that."

Harry sighs. "And the pot noodles?"

"It's `cause you never buy any," Louis replies, rolling his eyes. "I cannot be expected to live a life without pot noodles."

"It's not healthy, you know that," Harry tells him, frustrated. They've probably had this argument a thousand times now. "I don't _buy_ it because it's not healthy."

"But it tastes good," Louis answers. "And it's cheap. You have to learn to budget." He picks up another cucumber. "Oh, look, Harry!" He exclaims, and Harry feels himself flush as more people turn to look at them. "This one is squishy! Come on, feel it!"

And if they return with three more cucumbers than Anne asked them to buy, Harry fully places the blame on Louis.

After a few more errands, they go for lunch. Gemma takes them to lunch at one of her favourite restaurants, partly to thank them for their help, and partly because she wants to interrogate them both some more. Harry orders chicken and Louis orders the fish, and halfway through it, they both quietly agree to switch meals, much to the amusement of Harry's mum and sister.

"Look at them," his mum says fondly, when Louis deposits the vegetables onto Harry's (new) plate. "They're so domestic."

"What do you mean?" Harry asks. To Louis, he says, "you have to eat your vegetables, Lou," and drops the broccoli back onto Louis' plate, the only vegetable he _knows_ Louis will actually eat.

"What mum means," Gemma interrupts, "is that we know you're not married yet, but my God do you act like an old married couple."

"Hey," Harry says, affronted. "We're not old. We're still pretty spry."

"Not the point, H." She leans forward, a smug look in her eye. "Brad tells me they lost you both last night."

"Oh," Louis answers, and Harry watches as he spears the broccoli with his fork and pops it in his mouth. "We both got really tired, so we decided to leave."

His mum's eyebrow climbs halfway above her forehead. "You both came home at five thirty in the morning, a while ago." She says.

Gemma looks even more smug. "Did they?"

Harry flushes. "It's not what you're thinking," he protests, before they can say anything else. "We really did just get tired of the club."

"You know what, H, it's nothing to be ashamed of,"  His mum assures, placing a hand on Harry's arm. "You're young, you're in love, I get it that you both wanted a little bit of privacy to do whatever it is you want to do," her expression drops for a moment, "but please tell me you used protection."

Louis, who had been drinking water while she was speaking, suddenly chokes on it, sending him into a coughing fit. Harry immediately pats Louis on the back, his face burning.

"Mum," he protests. "It _really_ wasn't like that. Look, you've almost killed Louis."

"Sorry, Louis," she apologizes, far too gleefully.

"We really did just walk around," Harry says. "Talked a bit, you know, grabbed a bit of food."

"Ah," Gemma says. "They're really getting creative with their innuendos, aren't they mum?"

"Gemma," Harry hisses, and Gemma laughs, a clear, delighted sound.

"We're just teasing, H. We believe you," she says, and Harry relaxes in his seat. He continues rubbing circles on Louis' back, even though Louis has long stopped coughing. "But next time, tell us yeah? Brad and the rest were worried."

"We will," His voice still strained, and Harry frowns at him in worry. "Sorry for any trouble we caused."

"Yeah, sorry, mum," Harry apologizes, before turning to Louis. "You alright?" He murmurs. He doesn't drop his hand from Louis' back. "Need anything?"

The corner of Louis' lips curl up. "I'm fine, Haz," he says. "Thank you."

"Oh, to be young and in love again," She sighs loudly, and Harry thinks it's strange, the way his heart thumps louder in his chest at her proclamation.

. . .

"I'm bored," Louis whines, flopping down on the bed. He chucks the tiny stress ball he found in Harry's bag to the ceiling, and Harry watches as he fails to catch it, watches as it bounces off  his head. "Let's do something."

"What do you want to do?" Harry asks, locking his phone and  slipping it into his pocket. "By the way, Niall's been asking how we're faring. Asking if they've caught on, yet."

"Please," Louis huffs. "We're doing well. I already told him, they won't catch on." Harry knows he's still a bit hurt over Niall's reaction, who, when they told him about the situation, laughed for five minutes straight.  "And, I dunno, what's there to do here in Holmes Chapel?"

"Nothing," Harry answers. "It's very quiet here."

"Wow," Louis replies. He rolls over onto his stomach, propping himself up with his elbows. "Way to sell your hometown, Harry."

"But it's true," Harry says, crossing his arms. "It's boring, why do you think I moved to London?"

"You know what," Louis says, "'Boring' is a social construct." He pushes himself onto his knees, facing Harry. "Come on, we have four hours until the wedding rehearsal. Let's go on an adventure. Show me around. Take me to all the places little Harry hung out in."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Fine," he stands up from the bed. "But be prepared to do a bit of walking."

Louis scrambles to his feet. "Yes, okay, I am _so_ okay with walking," he says, and Harry bites his bottom lip to keep from calling Louis out on his lie.

Gemma's in her room and Anne is out, doing something, so it's easy for Harry and Louis to sneak out of the house. Harry grabs Louis' hand and Louis just hums, intertwines their fingers, and lets Harry pull him along.

They don't walk far, just a few blocks down.  Harry tries to play tour guide–rattles off names and facts and dates about Holmes Chapel that he's made up on the spot–and Louis just listens to him with an indulgent smile on his face.

"So this is a field," Harry says, eventually, when they arrive at their first destination. He watches as Louis takes it all in, watches as he observes the green of the grass, the cluster of trees farther away and the chalk-graffitied walls. "Or like, sort of."

"Let me guess," Louis says, "a young, dashing Navy Captain Harry Styles used to play in this field?"

"Yeah," Harry laughs. "See?" He points to a section of the wall, to a squiggly 'H.S.' written in chalk. "That's him."

Louis hums. "Did he do this too, I wonder?" He asks, pointing a bit further away, to a group of sharp lines and angles, intertwining to form the word 'Harry'.

Harry laughs. "Yeah," he says.

Louis smirks. "Seems like we've got ourselves the new Banksy."

He moves closer, and Harry observes as he uses a finger to trace the sharp lines of the word, following each stroke. He doesn't stop after that, just continues observing the wall, pointing out the different places where Harry graffitied his name.

His eyes are soft, unguarded, looking over the marks Harry had drawn, at all the aspects of Harry he's never seen. Harry has the strong urge to photograph him like this, to immortalize this memory, but he knows he can't–this moment is precious, strangely fragile, and Harry thinks for the first time, in all his years as a photographer, that a photograph would ruin the entire thing.

"Before," he starts, "when I still wanted to become a musician, I'd sit on the ground over there–" he points at a spot, near Louis' feet "–and I'd spend afternoons writing songs."

"What did you write about?" Louis asks, curious. He doesn't look at Harry, instead he keeps staring at the lines of chalk.

Harry shrugs. "You know. The entire, nobody-understands-me, teen angst schtick–" Louis' mouth quirks up at the corner, "–but mostly about love. Heartache."

"Heartache?"

"Yeah." He takes a few step forward, until he's standing beside Louis. "As a teenager, I thought I knew what love was. I thought I understood it. So, I wanted to put it into a song, see, to help others understand it to."

"And did you?" Louis asks. "Put it in a song, I mean."

Harry looks at Louis, whose eyes are still trained to the graffiti on the wall. "I did," he admits. "It was a horrible song, but I did."

"And?"

"And looking back," Harry doesn't tear his eyes away from Louis, doesn't know why he can't, "I realized that I didn't actually understand what love was."

Louis turns to him then, his mouth still quirked in a strange, little smile. "What about now?"

Harry swallows. Louis' eyes are bright, curious, and they're blue in a way Harry can't fathom–as if all the blue in the sky and the ocean worked together to create Louis' eyes–and he finds that his palms are clammy, that his heart is pounding, and that he doesn't know what to say.

"I," he stutters. "I don't know." He clears his throat, shakes his head to clear his thoughts, and takes Louis' hand. "Now, come on, I'll show you something else."

He pulls him away from the walls, and towards the cluster of trees over in the far side of the field. He counts each tree, inspects their barks, until he finds the one he's looking for, the one with branches that hang a bit lower than the others, the one with a distinct knot pattern on the trunk.

"This," he says, gesturing to it, "is a tree." He waggles his eyebrows at Louis.

Louis raises his eyebrows. "Nice tree."

"It is." Harry leans forward, traces the familiar ridges of the tree. "Incredibly memorable for me, as _this_ is where I had my first kiss."

"Oh," Louis' breath comes out as an exhale, and Harry bites his lip. "With who?"

"Rosie," Harry replies, and tries not to laugh when Louis snorts. "Yes, okay, that was her name, or rather, it was Rose but we called her Rosie. She was a year older than me, had blonde hair, blue eyes."

"Was she hot?" Louis asks, and Harry barks out a laugh.

"She was _thirteen_ , Louis."

"I mean, why not, right?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "She was thirteen," he repeats. "Which means, no, she wasn't hot. She was, however, the prettiest girl in their year."

Louis whistles. "Little Harry Styles, get _in_."

Harry laughs. "Stop," he says. "You're messing up the purity of my memories."

Louis makes a show of raising his hands. "Sorry, sorry. Now continue, please."

"Okay. So I was obviously flattered that she liked me, a pimply twelve year old from the year below her. So we went to this field and we talked for a while, and then we went here on this tree, and–" he looks down at his boots, "–we snogged."

"Ooh," Louis says, "sounds steamy."

"It was," Harry jokes, waggling his eyebrows, and Louis giggles, a tinkling sound Harry wants to bottle up. "No, no, actually it wasn't. I mean, it was fine, but like, not...right."

He remembers it clearly enough–remembers the kiss, wet and slimy in a way he wasn't expecting it to be, remembers the smell of Rosie's floral perfume, which she'd told him she stole from her mum. Remembers her long hair, brushing Harry's face, remembers how soft she was, pressed against Harry.

But what he remembers most vividly, is how he didn't like it.

He clears his throat. "Anyway, that's how I found out I was gay," he says quickly, and Louis' eyes bulge out.

"What the hell," he says, swatting Harry on the arm, "way to ruin a story, Harry."

Harry grins at him. "Sorry." He stays quiet for a bit, looking at Louis–he's still studying the tree, studying the gnarls of the trunk, the roughness of the wood.

"What happened to her?" Louis asks, eventually.

Harry furrows his brow. "Well, we stayed friends," he says, scratching the back of his neck. "She helped me out in school and stuff, growing up, um, I still get Christmas cards from her every year. Oh! Last I heard, she just got signed to a modelling agency."

"A model? Well, I'm not surprised," Louis says, shrugging. "You've always made friends with the most attractive people. Like me," he says, placing his hand on his chest and batting his eyelashes.

Louis _is_ very attractive. Probably one of the most attractive people Harry knows. He won't admit to that, though. "Are you done with your ego boost, now? I want to show you my old school."

"You know, you're a shit tour guide," Louis snipes, but he lets himself get pulled away from the tree.

They walk a few blocks to Harry's old school, and Harry points out the buildings, tells him of what he used to get up to during recess or lunch. He tells Louis about how he and his friends used to pass a football around on the quad, recounts to him about how he'd once accidentally pulled the fire alarm in the building and the entire school had to evacuate, and even points out the places he'd hang out in when he'd skip school.

"Look, over there," he points at the football field. "That's where my first fistfight happened."

Louis' jaw drops. "What?"

"Yeah, in Year Ten," Harry laughs. "We all gathered in the football field at midnight, it was me versus this guy Ben. I can't remember the reason why–something about a stolen book, I think?–but suddenly it was this big thing, everyone sneaking out of their houses to watch the fight."

"What happened?"

"Well, we turned up, and I was _terrified_ ," Harry says. "Anyway, Ben was like 'yeah, come on' and so I darted forward, and like, pushed him–" he does the motion with his hands, "–before running away, and Ben just fell on his bum, but I think there was a rock or something, `cause he screamed in pain." He shrugs. "Then everyone ran off and left him."

Louis stares at him. "That was shit."

"It was, wasn't it?" Harry laughs.

They don't spend much time at the school, Harry choosing to pull Louis towards the places he used to hang out in. He shows Louis the mall where he and his mates used to have stupid cheeseburger eating contests, shows him the movie house where he had his first proper date, with a boy named Jonny.

"We watched _Step Up_ ," Harry tells Louis. "Then he kissed me in the middle of the movie, and let me tell you, it was _much_ steamier than Rosie's. Pretty much cemented the fact that I was gay, too."

"Poor Rosie," Louis muses, as Harry pulls him away. "All she wanted was cute, little Harry Styles, and he turns out to be gay."

After the mall, Harry drags Louis to a bakery just down the road. It's quiet, when they enter–just a few people milling about behind the counter and a little old lady buying bread.

Louis gives him a look. "Don't tell me...?"

"Yep," Harry answers proudly. "Remember when I said that I used to be a baker?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "You weren't a baker, you just worked at a bakery. There's a difference."

Harry frowns at him. "No, I was a baker," he argues. "Barbara called me a baker. Speaking of which, hey Babz!"

One of the ladies across the counter turn to look at him, and he waves, smiling brightly at her. "Oh my goodness, Harry!" She exclaims. "You scared me!" She scurries around the counter to pull him into a hug. "You're so big now, love! How are you?"

Harry laughs. "I'm great!"

She steps back, smiling at Harry in a way that makes her look fifty years younger. "London treating you well?"

"Very well," Harry confirms. He gestures to Louis, standing beside him. "This is Louis."

"Right!" Barbara exclaims, going over to give him a hug. "Your mum _did_ say that you had a fiancé when she came in to buy bread. Rather good-looking, isn't he?"

"You know me," Harry answers. "Always going for the good-looking ones."

Louis looks smug. "It's nice to meet you," he says, addressing Barbara. "Harry's told me a lot about the bakery. Said it was one of his favourite places ever."

"Did he?" Barbara looks touched. "He's one of my favourite employees. A really great baker, too."

Harry sticks his tongue out at Louis. "See, told you, I was a baker." He says, and Louis rolls his eyes again,  a smile tugging at his lips.

Barbara just observes them with a knowing smile. "I can't believe you're engaged, Harry," she says, sounding strangely teary. "Why, it seems like only yesterday you were a tiny sixteen year old eating all my croissants. Oh!" She perks up suddenly. "Which reminds me, we've got a fresh batch of chocolate croissants out from the oven, which I know you just _love_ ," she says backing away." Stay there, I'll get the both of you a piece! On the house, to celebrate your engagement."

"You know," Louis murmurs, once she's disappeared to the back of the shop. "If pretending to be engaged keeps getting us free baked goods, I might ask you to just stay engaged with me forever."

After Barbara gives them each a chocolate croissant, they bid their goodbyes, and Harry pulls them into a little milkshake place he used to frequent. Louis orders a strawberry and Harry orders a vanilla, and they eat their chocolate croissants while drinking their milkshake, their ankles hooked around each other under the table Harry had etched his initials on. Harry tells Louis of that time he was six and his mum brought him here for the first time, of how he loved it so much and cried loudly when they had to leave, forcing his mum to promise him to bring him back here the next day.

They finish their milkshakes and throw the wrappers of their croissants, and Harry holds Louis' hand, slightly sticky with chocolate, and brings him to the parking lot of an old diner.

Louis looks around with curious eyes. "What's here?" He asks, suspicion laced in his voice.

Harry looks around, grins innocently at Louis. He beckons him forward, and Louis goes willingly, his eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion.

Harry leans down to whisper in his ear. "This," he pauses, for dramatic effect, "is where I lost my virginity."

Louis gasps delightedly. "You did _not_ ," he says, pushing him away. He looks around again, to the large windows of the diner and the few cars parked on the parking lot. "Harry Styles, tell me you did not."

"Well, it wasn't here, exactly, like on the gravel," Harry amends, and Louis gives him a look which Harry takes to mean as _duh_. "It was in Jonny's car. But yep, we did the dirty, right here." He stomps his foot for emphasis.

"That's ridiculous," Louis replies, looking at the dumpsters just a few feet from them.  "I thought that only ever happened in movies."

Harry raises his hand. "Living proof that it doesn't." He laughs when Louis slaps him in the arm.

"Okay, but how did it happen?"

Harry furrows his brow, trying to remember. "We had dinner, there," he says, picturing the scene in his mind. "They have great waffles, by the way–you should try them. Anyway, dinner, and then his car was parked out here. He was going to drive me home, see, but I didn't feel like going yet, and he didn't feel like letting me go."

"And then?" Louis prompts.

"Jonny's brother bought like a bunch of wine coolers just that afternoon, and he gave a pack to Jonny," Harry says, remembering the sweet taste of the wine cooler, on his tongue. "So, he was like, 'hey, wanna split it'–" he pitches his voice low, and is rewarded by Louis' laugh, "–and I was like, 'yeah sure, okay'. Between the two of us, we managed to open it and we drank, like, three each. Keep in mind we were both, like, sixteen and I was a horrible lightweight."

"Like you aren't still," Louis teases, and Harry elbows him.

"Let me finish. So, anyway, the stars were out, the moon was pretty, I was kind of drunk, and then he kissed me. I kissed back, and whoop, it happened." He shrugs. "It wasn't that nice, if I'm being honest. It was really awkward, and at one point, I kicked the horn." He winces. "Not my finest moment."

Louis laughs. "Only you would," he says, and Harry thinks he sounds fond. "What was playing?"

"Sorry?"

"The song," Louis clarifies. "What song did you lose it to?"

Harry racks his memory. "Um," he says, drawing out the word. "I remember the radio was stuck in an oldies' station, `cause it was broken, um..." He trails off, trying to remember the songs that played, when suddenly it hits him. "Oh! _When 2 Become 1_!"

Louis stares at him. "You're telling me," he says incredulously, his eyes wide, "that you lost your virginity to the _Spice Girls_?"

"Yes?" And Harry isn't prepared for the way Louis throws his head back and cackles, loudly in the empty parking lot. "What?" he asks. He can feel a bright smile tugging at his lips, and he tries to fight it, tries to stop himself from laughing with Louis. "What's wrong with that?"

"I can't believe," Louis wheezes out, when he manages to calm himself down to speak, "you had the _Spice Girls_ on while losing your virginity."

Harry huffs. "There's nothing wrong with that," he repeats, his grin still trying to fight its way through. "Why, what did you lose your virginity to?"

Suddenly, there's a mischievous glint in Louis' eyes. "Wouldn't you like to know," he says, and then Harry's mind is filled with raunchy images–of Louis fucking (and getting fucked) a sexy song in the background. Harry tries not to blush at the mental image, but it's so hard when he's pretty sure Louis would look _so_ good, naked and completely debauched.

Louis doesn't seem to notice his thoughts, though. "Come on," he whines, pulling at Harry's hand. "It's creepy standing around here now. Besides, we might be late to the wedding rehearsal."

"Alright, alright," Harry says, leading him out of the parking lot and back on the sidewalk. He pretends not to notice how Louis' grip on his hand is tighter, and Louis doesn't say anything about it.

. . .

The wedding rehearsal goes smoothly, all things considered: Gemma and Brad are taught what to do, where to stand, where to go, and all the problems that _could_ occur during the ceremony and ruin Gemma's day are ironed over and fixed. Harry gets told what to do and where to stand as well–he's one of the groomsmen, and apparently that requires more directing than he thought. Majority of his time, though,  is spent trying to communicate with Louis, via sign language. He's pretty sure they don't get any proper communicating done–after all, their vocabulary is very limited, due to the fact that they had the bright idea to learn it while drunk on cheap wine–but it's fun and it makes the rehearsal go much faster.

After that, there's a small rehearsal dinner, with the bridesmaids and the rest of the groomsmen (and their significant others), and Harry doesn't hesitate to go up to Louis and hold his hand. Holding Louis' hand has become less for show and more for comfort, and Harry realizes that he's going to have to stop holding Louis' hand when they go back to London. The idea makes him feel strangely sad, so he tries not to think about it, focuses on enjoying the night with his family and his best mate.

The rehearsal dinner is happening in one of the nicer restaurants in town, and the host leads them to a table in a small, secluded room near the back of the restaurant. Harry sits next to Louis, obviously, and much to his chagrin, Anne and Gemma sit across from them, their smiles impish.

They don't interrogate them though, which thank God. Harry doesn't think he can handle another interrogation without bursting into tears. They just simply sit there, content to watch him and Louis interact and whisper at each other when they think Harry and Louis does something cute.

Which isn't anything he _can't_ handle. Harry thinks that maybe, just maybe, they'll be able to make it through tonight, without any major bumps in the road.

So he doesn't think much of it when Gemma suggests to the room to play The Newlywed Game (even though none of the people in the group are newly married), doesn't think much when he listens to the rules. It seems easy enough–there are two rounds where both sides of the couple write down their answers, see if they match up, a kiss at the end of the round to seal your points–and Harry even watches, entertained, as everyone pairs up and starts battling each other. Gemma and Brad, when they play, win three games in a row, no one even coming close to their number of points.

He doesn't think much of it but he should've, he _really_ should've, especially since Gemma turns around, points at him, and says, "I want to battle Louis and Harry."

Harry freezes. "Um," He exchanges a panicked glance with Louis, who looks similarly caught off-guard. "We don't–"

Immediately, Gemma pouts at him. "Please, H," she begs. "Just one game."

Louis grips Harry's thigh under the table, catches Harry's eye above it. Harry raises his eyebrows, a silent query, and it takes a moment for Louis to respond, but when he does, his eyes have a resigned look to them, and he nods minimally.

"Okay," Louis says. "We'll play."

It's competitive the instant it starts off, with Brad and Gemma racking up points. They set the bar high immediately, getting all five points in the first round. Harry watches as they kiss to seal their points, as Gemma laughs into Brad's mouth, and Harry realizes that _fuck, they're going to need to kiss too_ , which is a problem because he and Louis hadn't _discussed_ it. Had completely forgotten about that aspect of it, if he's being honest, too distracted by the fact that they had to pretend to be _engaged_ with each other.

Oh, fuck.

"Alright," His mum starts, and fuck, is it too late to back out? "One, What's Louis' favourite type of breakfast?"

 _Mix-ins_ , Harry writes incredulously, without thinking, but then he takes a peek at Louis, scribbling away intently, before crossing it out and putting _Full English Breakfast_.

"Two," She says. "What was the last thing you two fought about?"

That's easy. The last thing they actually, properly fought about was the laundry, when Louis shrunk Harry's pants into the size of a three year old's. Harry scribbles _Laundry_ down.

"Three. What does Harry like to do on a day off?"

That's another easy one. Harry writes _read poetry_ down .

"Four. What song would best describe your relationship?"

Hmm. Him and Louis have this habit of singing _Wouldn't It Be Nice_ by the Beach Boys at the top of their lungs. It's gotten them quite a bit of noise complaints, before, and one memorable occasion, a cop on their doorstep, who'd thought they were kitten torturers. That was a funny moment. Harry writes that down.

"And last question. If your relationship was a food, what would it be?"

A food? Harry's mind draws a blank. He and Louis don't really like much of the same food, with Louis preferring all the greasy stuff and Harry choosing to eat much healthier. He can't think of a single food that they both like to eat. Except pizza, but they both still argue about the toppings too much for it to be _their_ food.

They're not even in a relationship, Harry thinks distantly. They're just two gay blokes, two _single_ gay blokes who faked an engagement for cake–

A light bulb pops in Harry's head. He scribbles _cake_ down and hopes for the best.

"Alright," she says. "Let's see the answers."

And miraculously, their answers all match up.

Louis grins at him, his face soft and fond when Harry raises his answer of _Full English Breakfast_ , bites his lip to keep from laughing when they hold their answers of _Laundry_ up. Harry stares at Louis in amazement, when he sees that _read poetry in bed_ written on Louis' paper, has to keep himself from shouting in excitement when Louis flips to the next paper and Harry sees _Wouldn't It Be Nice If We Were Older_ scribbled on the paper.

And then, when they both flip their papers to reveal _cake_ , they can't help but burst into spontaneous laughter.

"Makes sense," he hears Gemma mutter, but he's too busy giggling to pay her any mind. He feels light-headed, bubbly–distracted by the curve of Louis' smile and the sound of his laughter. Harry laughs and Louis laughs and suddenly, all Harry wants to do is to hug him, bury his face in the junction between Louis' neck and shoulder, his favourite place.

"Okay," His mum says, her eyes sparkling. "Now, players, seal your points."

Immediately, the airy feeling in his chest disappears.

He chances a peek at Louis, finds him already looking back. Louis' eyes scream _maybe we should've practiced this_ and Harry's scream _we really should've_ but it's too late now, now that there are what feels like dozens of curious eyes on them, waiting. Harry finds himself swallowing nervously, a reflex reaction, and in hindsight they _really_ should've prepared harder for this, really should've discussed how they were going to act around each other and how far they were willing to go, but well, they've never been very good planners, preferring instead to go where the wind takes them.

 But practicing is for cowards, anyway, and Harry likes to think of he and Louis as the complete opposite of that. They're brave, reckless, daring–any and all synonyms–and he knows it's probably not a good idea to have his first kiss with his best mate in front of a dozen people, but well. There's not time like the present, is there?

Harry cups Louis' face with his hand, strokes the top of his cheekbones. Louis is still staring at him unblinkingly, and Harry is suddenly reminded of yesterday, when Louis was sleep-warm and soft and Harry's lips were inches away from his. They're inches away from his now, so close that he can feel it when Louis' breath hitches, like a question that only Harry has the answer for.

He feels a surge of fondness for his best friend, feels it tug at his heart strings, and he mentally counts _one, two, three_ , before closing his eyes and leaning forward.

The first brush of their lips is _electric_ , and Harry's skin erupts in goose bumps. He hears Louis exhale softly, against his mouth, feels his mouth slacken beneath Harry's own, and Harry just keeps his eyes closed, just kisses Louis harder. Louis is warm, his skin stubbly beneath Harry's own, and he tastes sweet, like wine, and something else, something that tastes the way sunlight feels.

The kiss doesn't last as long as Harry would like–he hears someone clear their throat, and it startles him, makes him pull away, catch his breath. Louis, he finds when he takes a peek, is a vision–his lips stained red in contrast to the blue of his eyes, and not for the first time, Harry wants to photograph him. Wants to capture the way he looks post-kiss, the way his blue eyes dance, flickering beneath the dim lights of the restaurant; the way his lips are the colour of red wine.

"Hey," Louis murmurs to him, his mouth set in a small smile, one that Harry wants to taste.

(He doesn't know what that says about him.)

"Hey," he murmurs, leans forward to press a gentle kiss onto Louis' forehead, before turning back to the room at large.

. . .

They end up winning the game.

Gemma and Brad lose by a point, and they make such a big, exaggerated show of losing that everyone gets distracted, forgets that Harry and Louis are supposed to kiss again to seal their points. Louis doesn't bring it up, so Harry stays quiet about it, simply giggling at Gemma and Brad's antics and sneaking glances at Louis any chance he gets.

It's around ten when they leave the restaurant, everyone a bit sleepy, so Harry doesn't protest when Louis all but drags him into the room to sleep. They brush their teeth, change into their pajamas, and Harry doesn't hesitate in rolling over and burrowing into Louis.

He's about to doze off into sleep when a sudden thought hits him, makes him jerk awake. Beside him, Louis stirs too, blinking blearily at Harry.

"Whassit?" He asks, and then yawns. Harry feels his heart grow twelve sizes larger.

"Nothing," Harry says. "Go back to sleep."

"Okay," Louis mumbles, and then he's flopping back on his back and curling up against his pillow. Harry tries to go back to sleep, he does, but now that the idea's occurred to him, he can't stop worrying about it.

"Lou," he whispers, giving up trying to sleep.

Louis shifts on the bed. "Mmm," he mumbles, his face still smushed on the pillow.

"I know it's bad timing, but like, I just had a thought," Harry rambles, staring at Louis' prone form. "Like, tomorrow is Gemma's wedding day, and she's going to have to dance, and as her brother I have to, um, dance with her?" He takes a deep breath. "And it just occurred to me right now that I don't know how to dance. Can't even dance properly, if I'm being honest. And I'm kind of worried, `cause I know Gemma wants her wedding to be perfect, and I don't want to be the one to mess it up for her and–" he cuts himself off, squints at Louis in the darkness. "Louis? Are you listening to me or have you fallen asleep again?"

The only response he gets is a snore from Louis. Which.

"Louis, I know you're awake."

"No, I'm not," Louis mumbles. He doesn't lift his head off the pillow. "I'm sleeping, Harry. Listen." He makes a series of snoring sounds, which makes Harry bark out a laugh.

"You're awake," Harry insists. "I know, because you don't snore."

"Damn," Louis mumbles. "Foiled yet again." He moves his head, enough so that he can blink blearily at Harry. "You'll be fine, don't worry."

"But I don't know how to dance," Harry replies, his initial worry coming back. He bites his bottom lip, worries it between his teeth. "Can't dance, even."

"I'm pretty sure there won't be any complicated dancing tomorrow," Louis dismisses. "All you're going to have to do is, like, put your arms around her and sway from side to side."

" _Still_ ," Harry insists. "What if while she's dancing with me something happens and she has to go to the hospital because she broke her toe?"

Louis stares at him. " _Why_ would she break her toe?"

"`Cause I stepped on her foot."

"Jesus, how hard do you step?"

"Not the point." Harry isn't allowing himself to get sidetracked. Not today. "The point, _Louis_ , is that I don't know how to dance at all, and I am going to have to dance with my sister tomorrow. And maybe my mum. Oh God."

Louis snickers. "Really, Harry," he says, "you're being irrational about this. You'll be fine, I promise."

"But what if I'm not?" Harry worries, and Louis must see something in his expression, because he's sighing, pushing himself off the bed.

He extends a hand toward Harry. "Come on."

Harry stares at his hand. "...where are we going?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "I thought you were worried about dancing," he says. "So come on, let's practice.

"Practice." That actually sounds like a pretty good idea, and Harry immediately feels better as he takes Louis' hand and stands up from the bed.

Louis leads them to an empty spot in the room, kicking the stuff around until there's a little more space to move around. He picks up Harry's hands, places them on his waist, before he's reaching up and resting his own arms around Harry's shoulders.

"Now," says Louis, in his teacher voice, "the trick to mastering the very difficult, very complicated art of slow dancing, are these three top secret steps. First," one of his hands reach up to scratch at Harry's scalp, and Harry feels himself exhale lightly. "You have to relax."

"Relax," Harry parrots. "Alright. I got this."

"Second," Louis continues. "Make sure to step the same way as your partner does. You step right, she steps left. Here," he steps to his left and Harry follows him, matches his foot with his own. "See? Not that hard."

"Okay," Harry breathes. Louis steps to his right and Harry follows, stepping to his left. "This isn't as hard as I thought."

Louis gives him a pointed look. "I _told_ you."

Harry pretends not to hear him. "What's the third step?"

"Feel the music," Louis instructs, sounding very self-important. "You, young Harold, have to make sure you're stepping _in time_ with it, not against it. The music is how you and your partner–in this case, Gemma–will stay in sync."

"Okay." Harry pauses, listens to the quiet of the night. "But there's nothing."

"Pardon?"

"There's no music playing," Harry clarifies. "Should we put on some music?"

"I don't know," Louis shrugs. "We might wake someone."

"But how will I _practice_?" Harry asks, frowning.

"Okay, how about I just sing for you?" Louis asks, like it's a perfectly logical solution. "Come on, match my steps." He takes one step to the left and Harry matches it, and then suddenly they're dancing, moving from one side to the other. "We gotta dance to the intro of the song."

"And what song are we dancing to?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out." Louis grins sharply, his eyes shining despite the lack of light in the room. "You ready to hear my wonderful singing voice?"

"No," Harry deadpans, "but I don't think that's going to stop you anyway."

"Damn right." Louis takes an exaggeratedly deep breath, his nostrils flaring hilariously, before bursting into song. " _Work work work work work_."

Harry cackles so loud he has to slap a hand over his mouth to keep quiet. "Louis," he chides, giggling. "I don't think Gemma and I will be dancing to _that_."

"Why not?" Louis asks, grinning, evidently pleased at Harry's reaction. "I'm pretty sure there's an acoustic version. If not, maybe we could ask Rihanna to make one."

"Are you telling me you know Rihanna personally?" Harry asks, laughter still in his voice.

"No," Louis says, "but I follow her on Twitter. I could tweet her."

"I don't think Gemma even likes that song."

"Well, she's missing out," Louis shrugs. "In our fictional wedding, we are _definitely_ slow dancing to that song."

Harry doesn't know why his heart reacts to Louis' words. "The acoustic version, or the normal version?"

"The normal version," Louis dismisses. "We're not going to have any of those sappy, slow love songs. Our wedding is going to be _fun_." He's grinning his eyes crinkled in the corners, and Harry feels his heart beat faster at his words. "We'll invite Rihanna herself, and Drake, and–"

"Beyoncé and Jay-Z," Harry puts in. "Kim and Kanye. Celine Dion."

There's a pause.

"Why," Louis asks, blinking at him, "do you want to invite _Celine Dion_ to our wedding?"

Harry shrugs. "I want to hear her tell us how our hearts will go on."

Louis strokes an imaginary beard, weighing Harry's words in his head. "Okay," he decides eventually. "Fair point. Celine is on the guest list. Let's put Mariah in too."

"Done." It's not even a serious wedding plan, just Louis and him talking shit, as they're prone to do, but Harry doesn't know why his heart is fluttering at the words. He's stuck on the idea of marrying Louis, of seeing him dressed to the nines, of holding his hand as they say their vows, and it makes his breath hitch, makes his hands tighten their grip on Louis' waist.

He tears away from Louis' arms, his heart pounding. "Um," he says, when Louis blinks at him, surprised. "I just. Um. Let's put on some, uh, real music."

"You're saying my singing wasn't 'real music'?" Louis snipes, but lets Harry grab his phone. He opens the music app, picks one at random, and goes back to stand in front of Louis.

The first few notes play out, and Louis turns to him, an eyebrow raised. "Ed Sheeran? _Really_?" Harry can see the smile still playing on his lips though. "I told you, Harry, there'll be no sappy love songs at our wedding."

Harry swallows thickly, fits his hands on the dip of Louis' waist. The strains of the music float through the air, Ed singing softly about 'keeping this love in a photograph'.  It's incredibly apt for how he feels, and he quietly curses the shuffle button on his phone. "For your information," he says, "Ed Sheeran is a very talented singer and songwriter, and his songs are _great_ to slow dance to."

"Oh, sure," Louis rolls his eyes. "Make our wedding one of the boring ones."

"We can dance to _Work_ later, I promise," Harry assures him. He doesn't say anything after that, and neither does Louis–instead Louis just watches him, an emotion Harry can't read playing in his eyes. He seems to be looking for something, searching for it on Harry's face, and Harry doesn't know what he's looking for, but he hopes Louis finds it all the same.

"You're my best mate, Haz," Louis says quietly, so quietly that Harry strains to hear him. "You really are. Like, I've had mates before you, back in Donny, but it wasn't like this." He takes a deep breath. "They weren't like you. You're different, so different, and yet you just get me, just understand me on a level nobody ever came close to." One of his hands come up to play with the hair on Harry's nape. "And I just, I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry I got us into this mess."

Harry closes his eyes, because if he doesn't, he might cry. It's just that Louis is apologizing for _this_ , taking the blame for what they got themselves into, and Harry doesn't know how to tell him that he doesn't need to do that. Not anymore, at least, because yeah, this entire thing might've been a mess, and okay, this entire thing might've caused Harry unnecessary stress, but it doesn't even seem to matter, because it was fun. It was fun and a little bit stupid and a whole lot memorable, and he had Louis beside him the whole way through.

Louis, his best mate. Louis, who had– _has_ his back, no matter what. Louis, who just gets Harry, the same way Harry gets him. Louis, who manages to make everything, even the dullest things, an adventure.

(He still remembers clearly how he and Louis met, three years ago. It was at a party–one of Niall's, he thinks, or was it one of Liam's? Or was it a joint party? Harry doesn't really remember the details, all fuzzed up in his brain, but what he _does_ remember is that he was rather drunk and the room was spinning and Zayn had left him to do body shots off someone.

He'd wandered around for a bit, trying to find a quiet room to sober up in, or maybe even to nap in, when he walked in one of the rooms and saw Louis trying to climb out the window. Louis had looked over his shoulder at the sound, spotted Harry, and lit up, his eyes crinkling happily in the corners.

"Hey," he'd said, and Harry stared at the blue of his eyes, tried to catalogue its colour.

"Hey," Harry replied.

"I'm Peter Pan," Louis said, and he'd winked. Harry giggled, amused at this boy, trying to climb out the window. "Wanna be my Lost Boy?"

And then Harry had looked down at himself, looked down at the light blue, polka-dotted shirt he was wearing, and said, "I wanna be Wendy."

Louis' grin grew wider, and he'd beckoned Harry toward him. "Come on, then, Wendy," he'd said. "Let's go on an adventure.)

"Don't," Harry sighs, opening his eyes and catching Louis' own. He pulls Louis closer, close enough that Harry has to duck down slightly to meet Louis' eye. His chest feels tight, his heart lodged somewhere on his ribcage. "Don't be sorry. It was fun, yeah? We got free cake. And I got to spend a lot of time with my best mate."

It doesn't feel right anymore, calling Louis his best mate, but Harry doesn't know what else to call him. There doesn't seem to be a word in the English language that's big enough to define him, to encompass what he means to Harry.

Louis is silent, watching the play of emotions on Harry's face. And then he says, "I don't want to go back to London."

Harry breathes out a laugh. "I don't, either."

"I want to just stay here, forever," Louis continues. "In boring old Holmes Chapel. With you."

And it's stupid, because Harry moved out of Holmes Chapel, packed up his bags and left as soon as he could manage, but at this moment, there's nothing he wants _more_. Holmes Chapel is quaint, and it's quiet, but he knows, with Louis, it won't ever be dull. With Louis, even going to the bakery to buy bread will be an adventure.

Harry smiles at him, leans down to press a gentle kiss on Louis' forehead. "Then let's stay here forever," he agrees, and he feels Louis smile against his chest.

They hold each other and dance, swaying too  the faint sound coming from Harry's phone, until they both can't keep their eyes anymore. Louis cuddles into Harry and Harry buries his face into Louis' hair, breathes in his familiar scent, and thinks he could go anywhere, stay anywhere, as long as he's with Louis.

. . .

Gemma and Brad's wedding goes perfectly.

Despite Gemma's pre-wedding jitters that had her messing up her hair, accidentally losing her shoes, and at one point, sending Harry off to buy a packet of golden Oreos, it goes smoothly. The flowers were gorgeous, artfully arranged around the hall, the guests arrived on time, and even the little flower girl and little ring bearer did their jobs splendidly, melting the hearts of the guests. Gemma looked radiant, every bit the perfect bride, and Brad actually teared up when he saw her walking down the aisle.

It's not long before they're pronounced married, and Gemma and Brad share a kiss. Harry makes a face at Louis, who makes a face back, his blue eyes dancing. Harry has to admit he looks good–the navy blue of his tux compliments his skin nicely, and his hair is styled in an artful quiff, and he's freshly shaven.

Harry goes to him the instant he's allowed, intertwining their fingers. They walk hand-in-hand towards the reception already set up outside, Louis watching the guests and Harry watching Louis.

"That was a beautiful wedding," Louis tells Harry, swinging their joined hands together. "Think I might reconsider our own wedding plans."

Louis ends up seated beside Harry, on the table, and even then, Harry doesn't stop holding Louis' hand, even going as far as to pull their joined hands onto his lap. Harry watches Gemma and Brad enter, obviously drunk on the fact that they're now married, watches them laugh and hold hands and kiss and can't help but think that he would quite like to do that, with Louis by his side.

The food, when it comes, is delicious, and he and Louis pick the food off each other's plate, almost wipe it clean with their tongues. The cake is delicious too–the Key Lime cake from the shop in London–and Harry happily eats it while he listens to Louis concede about how the Key Lime is good, _okay_ , but the Boston Creme is so much better.

Soon, they're called to make the speech, and after he listens to Brad's best friend tell a frankly hilarious epic about the things he and Brad used to get up to, it's his turn. He drops Louis' hand reluctantly, stands up shakily, and draws out the note cards he'd prepared months ago out of his breast pocket.

"Um," he says, to the crowd, shuffling his note cards nervously. "I have this really bad tendency to ramble a lot, so someone just come over and smack me if I take too long."

The crowd laughs at that, and Harry feels Louis grab his hand. He squeezes it once, a grounding pressure, before pulling away, and Harry takes a deep breath, thinks _I can do this_ , and launches into his speech.

He ends up rambling–of course he does–but the crowd seems to love it, laughing at every single one of Harry's stories about growing up with Gemma. His mum, when he chances a glance at her, looks fond, teary, while Gemma looks embarrassed, at one point hiding her face behind her hands. Harry talks about how Gemma liked to pin clips to his hair and put make-up on him when he was little, how Gemma was always there to help him with his homework, how Gemma was the one he'd turn to for advice, whether it be about school, or homework, or his friends, or his boyfriends. He talks about how Gemma supported him wholeheartedly when he moved to London, even buying him an expensive coffee machine that took him months to learn to use, talks about how on his birthday, every year, Gemma is always the first to call, greeting him at midnight on the dot.

He talks about how much he loves his sister, about how much she means to him, and how he's glad she found someone she loves, someone who makes her happy, and halfway through the speech he realizes three things:

1) That he'd always thought that love was a complicated thing–that it required grand gestures and dramatic declarations of love, when in reality, love is finding someone that makes you happy, someone who you want to make happy for the rest of their lives,

2) That Louis is right beside him, beaming brightly up at Harry. Louis, who's been a constant to Harry for three years, loyal, unwavering–Louis, who Harry wants to stay with forever, who Harry wants to clean up after and make breakfast for until he grows old–Louis, whose laughter Harry _always_ wants to hear, and

3) That he's wholly, horribly in love with Louis.

The last thought hits him like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out from his lungs, and Harry stumbles, trips over his words. Louis reaches up again, to squeeze Harry's hand and _fuck_ , _he's so in love with this boy, how did he not notice_?

"To, uh, Gemma and Brad," Harry ends his speech, lifting his glass up for a toast. "May they have a long, prosperous marriage, full of laughter and love." Gemma mouths a 'thank you' at Harry, looking very teary, Brad is looking at Gemma with so much love and adoration that it physically hurts to look at it, and all Harry can think about is how he'd like that someday, with Louis.

Fuck. He's in love with Louis.

"And now," the host announces, when Harry sits down. "May we please call for the bride and groom to have their first dance."

Louis leans towards him. He's still holding Harry's hand, making no move to pull away, and Harry's heart aches, beating to a staccato rhythm of _I love you_. "Watch," he whispers. "There's no way their dancing will rival ours."

Despite Harry's entire world spinning on its head, he manages to laugh. "I mean, they're not dancing to _Work_ ," he says, the words falling from his lips easily. Because it's _always_ so easy, with Louis. "So I think it's fair we've got them beat there." He watches as Gemma and Brad spin around on the makeshift dance floor, their eyes never leaving each other. "Although I have to say, there is _some_ merit to sappy love songs for a first dance."

Louis harrumphs. "I guess," he says reluctantly, and Harry thinks, _I'm in love with you_. "You just want to dance to Ed Sheeran."

"And what do you want to dance to?" Harry can't help but ask.

There's a mischievous glint in Louis' eyes. " _When 2 Become 1_."

After the first dance, it's time for other people to dance with the bride, and Harry reluctantly lets go of Louis' hand to make his way to Gemma, who's already waiting for him on the dance floor. He offers his hand with a bow and Gemma takes it with a curtsy, laughing as Harry places his hands on her waist.

"So," he says cheekily. "You're married, now. That means you're getting old."

Gemma cringes. "Oh God, don't remind me," she says. "Soon I'll be popping babies out like the rest of them."

"I mean, if you're taking suggestions, I'd love a nephew," he says, grinning brightly at his sister. "I've always wanted to play with a baby boy."

Gemma looks over his shoulder, and Harry doesn't need to look to be able to tell she's looking at Louis. "You could always ask him, you know," she says. "He'd probably get you anything you wanted."

Harry's heart skips at the thought. "Ask Louis for kids?" He asks, and he must sound a bit dubious because Gemma is huffing, a tiny scowl crossing her face.

"Yeah?" She says, like that isn't the most perplexing thing Harry's ever heard. And maybe she doesn't think it is–she _does_ think they're going to get married.

But the real, embarrassing truth is that they faked an engagement for cake, and Harry is so in love with Louis that he wants to marry him, anyway, cake or no cake.

"He loves you," Gemma says, bringing Harry back to the present. "I can see it in his face, Harry. The boy loves you so much he doesn't know what to do with himself."

Her words make Harry's heart beat faster in his chest, make him think about Louis. Louis, who's always gentle with Harry, no matter what the situation is. Louis, who listens to all of Harry's rambling stories and interjects at the right possible moments, just to let Harry know he's still being listened to. Louis, who'd looked at Harry with eyes that shone bright, even in the dark, and said 'I want to stay here in boring Holmes Chapel, with you'.

Gemma thinks that Louis loves him _back_. Harry doesn't know.

"I don't know, Gems," Harry says as much. He swallows thickly, focuses on his steps. "I–we haven't really discussed the entire kids thing, you know? I don't think he even wants them." _I don't even know if he loves me back_.

"Maybe," Gemma acknowledges, "but I can tell he wants to make you happy. Anything you want, and I'm sure he'd be bending over backwards to get it for you."

Harry doesn't know, he really doesn't. "I'm, I'll think about it," he stutters, before twirling her around one last time, and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Congratulations on your wedding."

. . .

His mum's waiting for him at the edge of the dance floor after he's passed Gemma off, and Harry doesn't hesitate in offering her a hand. She takes it gingerly, and he leads her to another empty spot on the dance floor.

"Your sister's married," she muses, her eyes bright with unshed tears. She looks so young like this, laughter in the creases of her eyes and the corners of her lips, and Harry feels a surge of fondness for her. "You're next, I guess."

Harry tries not to wince. "I guess," he says, looking down on his feet. He doesn't want to think about how his engagement is fake, _again_.

His mum hums, swaying them both from side to side. "You know, H, I had my doubts about him," she says, and Harry doesn't even have to ask to know that she's talking about Louis. "Especially when I learned that you were engaged. But he's a lovely boy."

"I know," Harry answers, still looking down at his feet. He doesn't want to meet his mum's eyes, yet. "He makes me happy, mum."

"So happy," she agrees easily, and Harry looks up at her shocked. "I've never seen you this happy with anyone else."

He's never _been_ this happy with anyone else. No one else has makes him quite as happy as Louis does.

"I swear, you just light up whenever he's in the room," she continues, smiling fondly at him. "Normally, you're like a little lighthouse," she pinches his cheek, "but with Louis, it's like you turn into the sun."

Harry bites his lower lip. "I love him, mum," he confesses meekly, quietly. It's the first time he's ever said it, but immediately he knows it's right. He doesn't know how he's managed to ignore how much he loves Louis for so long.

His mum just smiles at him. "I know, baby," she says, and she tugs him into a hug. Harry rests her chin on her shoulder, watches Gemma dancing with their dad, twirling and laughing without a care in the world, shifts his eyes to watch how Brad is looking at her lovingly, over his own mum's shoulder.

Harry takes a deep breath. "Do you think he loves me back?" He asks.

She steps away, holds Harry out at arms-length. "Baby," she says, her eyes incredulous, "he literally proposed to you."

 _As a joke_. Harry takes a deep breath, meets his mum's eyes. "Just humour me for a second," he says. "Please."

His mum raises her eyebrows, but she does. "He looks at you like you hung the _moon_ , Harry," she tells him, and Harry looks down at his feet. "Like you hung the moon and the stars and painted the entire night sky just for him."

"I," and Harry doesn't even know _what_ to think at this point, except that he loves Louis and there's a strong possibility that Louis might love him _back_. "Thank you, mum."

"Of course," she says, all loving and motherly, and presses a kiss on Harry's cheek.

Louis' still sat on the table after his mum lets him go, his chin propped up with a hand. He raises an eyebrow when Harry approaches, and kicks out the seat beside him. "Tired of dancing?"

Harry shakes his head, his heart hammering in his chest. "Wanna dance with you," he says, past the lump in his throat, and Louis looks at him with the bluest eyes Harry's ever seen. "Before we go. Please."

"Of course, Haz," Louis says, smiling fondly at him, and Harry smiles back, pulls his hand, and leads him to the dance floor.

He fits his hands on Louis' waist, and Louis twines his arms around Harry's neck. They sway from side to side, and it's reminiscent of last night, when Louis had taught him how to dance in the dark of their room.

"Wow," Louis says. "You've definitely taken to this dancing thing like a fish to water." He raises his eyebrows when Harry moves to twirl him. "Look at those Footloose skills," he whistles, and Harry giggles. "I bet your teacher was good."

"He was _very_ good," Harry replies, grinning happily at Louis. "The best."

"Was he incredibly good-looking too?"

"Yeah," Harry answers, "but he had an ego the size of his arse."

Louis laughs at that, his blue eyes sparkling the clear waters of a lake, and it makes Harry's chest swell, his heart singing in its cavity. He pulls Louis towards  him, suddenly needing him _much_ closer.

"I liked your speech, earlier," Louis commends, his eyes crinkled at the corners. He looks so beautiful like this, nestled in between Harry's arms, and Harry would photograph him, if he could tear his hands away from Louis for even just a second. "It was very...poetic."

"Please," Harry scoffs, "I literally rambled through the entire thing."

"No, but it was poetic rambling," Louis dismisses, and laughs when Harry snorts. "What, it was! It was like, poetry in motion, or summat."

" _You're_ poetry in motion," Harry shoots back, rather truthfully, and spins him around again. Louis goes easily, laughing as he does it, and Harry doesn't think of anything else, _can't_ think of anything else except _I love you_.

He comes back to Harry with his mouth frozen in a laugh, fits himself between Harry's hands like he belongs there.

And here, in Holmes Chapel, he does. Here, he belongs _to_ Harry, the same way Harry belongs to him. Here, it's a fairytale–it feels like they're invincible, like they've finally fought off the evil villain and are halfway through celebrating their happily ever after. Here, Harry holds Louis' hand and Louis holds Harry's and nobody questions it, because their fingers just fit perfectly.

But in London, in the real world, Harry doesn't know if it still applies.

The thought makes him stop in his tracks, makes him stop swaying to the music. He pulls Louis closer, holds him a breath away, and it would be so easy, he thinks, to kiss him right now, but he doesn't. He wants to kiss him when it's just them, when there's no stupid charade to play. He wants to kiss him when they're alone, so that Louis won't be able to mistake what it means.

"Harry?" Louis asks, his voice gentle. He's always so gentle when it comes to Harry. "What's wrong?"

Harry bites his lip. "I don't want to go," he whispers sadly, truthfully, in the sliver of space between their faces. He holds Louis' tighter. "I don't want to go back to London."

Louis is quiet, mulling over Harry's words. And then, "I don't either," he answers. Harry reads sadness in Louis' eyes, reads uncertainty in the set of his face. "I want to stay here, with you."

It's a nice thought. It's not possible, but it's a nice thought regardless.

Harry steels himself. "What happens after?" He asks, looking down at his shoes. "Like when we get back?" He doesn't know what he's asking about–if it's about the entire fake engagement, or if they're going to follow the plan and break up in a few weeks, or if it's about their friendship, because how can Harry go back to being just best mates with Louis after realizing that he's in love with Louis? He doesn't think he can do that. He doesn't _want_ to do that.

Harry feels Louis take a step back, away from the circle of Harry's arms. "We go back," Louis says, and Harry looks up to find him looking at Harry with a small, sad smile on his face. "We go back," he repeats, "and the adventure ends."

. . .

They arrive back in their shared London flat, later that night, pulling out their bags from the trunk. Louis doesn't hold his hand, doesn't even make move to grab it, and immediately, Harry feels off, unbalanced. Louis doesn't pull him to the bedroom either, like before–instead, he just kicks off his shoes, says 'goodnight', and retires to his own room, his own bed.

Because he has his own room here.

Harry doesn't know why his heart breaks at the thought.

He pulls himself together, picks up Louis' shoes and keeps it in the shoe closet. He deposits his bags on his own room, unpacks, throws his dirty clothes in the laundry hamper. He flops down on the bed, and scrolls through Instagram, trying not to think of Louis, in the other room, sleeping in the other bed.

He lasts all of five minutes.

"Harry?" Louis asks, wide-eyed, where Harry bursts into his room, panting. He's still in his travel clothes–a pair of joggers and a hoodie, and he's seated on the bed, his back against the headboard. "What's up?"

Harry takes a few deep breaths, tries to calm himself. "I," he says wildly, looking at Louis–he looks small, comfortable, and Harry wants to burrow into him, hide his face in Louis' neck, breathe in his familiar scent. "Um, I–I," his eyes slide to Louis' bag, still unpacked by the foot of the bed. "Laundry!" He exclaims. "I was going to ask if you had any dirty clothes."

Louis is still looking at him strangely. "Yes...?" He answers, when Harry doesn't say anything else. "But you're not _seriously_ going to laundry right now, at–" he checks his phone, "–eleven in the evening, are you?"

Harry laughs. It comes out as only slightly manic. "No time like the present, is there?"

"Uh, yeah there is," Louis says. "It's called 'tomorrow'. " He's still looking at Harry strangely, his blue eyes wary, uncertain, and it makes Harry's palms clammy, makes butterflies erupt in his stomach. He realizes, he can't do this anymore, can't talk in circles and figure eights anymore. He has to get to the point.

He squeezes his eyes shut. "Okay," he exhales. "I lied about the laundry."

"I figured," Louis says. Harry opens one eye, peeks at Louis. He's still staring at Harry, like a deer about to bolt. "Are you okay?"

Harry opens his other eye. "I'm fine," he says. "I just, I wanted to talk to you."

"Then talk," Louis says. He gestures to the foot of the bed, and Harry sits down on it gingerly. "You know, you don't have to make up an excuse to talk to me, right?"

Harry shakes his head. "That was, just, um, a lapse in judgment," he answers, shaking his head. "I just wanted to tell you something."

"Tell me."

Harry looks down, at the duvet, traces a circle on it. He tries to find the words to accurately describe what he wants to say, but it's hard, when only the same three words, eight letters keep bubbling up his throat, threatening to spill over.

Not that he doesn't want Louis to know. Just, he'll tell Louis in a bit. He will. He just needs to ease him into the idea, first.

"I don't want it to end," is what he eventually settles on, and in his peripheral vision, he sees Louis shift, move closer.

"What do you mean?"

Harry takes a deep breath. "The adventure," he says, a bit louder. "I don't want it to end."

"But–"

"And I _know_ we're not in Holmes Chapel anymore," Harry interrupts, before Louis can say anything. "I know that we're back in London, and the entire weekend is done, but," he stares hard at a spot on Louis' duvet. "That's not the adventure I was talking about."

"What _are_ you talking about, then?" Louis sounds irritated, annoyed, and Harry shakes his head, bites his lip, and decides to stop talking in mysteries.

"I'm talking about being engaged to you."

Harry hears Louis' breath hitch, and the sound of it makes him brave, helps him find his words. "I _know_ our engagement wasn't like a real thing," he says, curling his hand into a fist, "like, I know it was...because of a series of events, but like, I _want_ it to be a real thing." He looks up to look at Louis, finds him staring at Harry, his eyes wider than Harry's ever seen them. "Like, I want to stay engaged to you. I want to go to sleep next to you and wake up next to you and plan a wedding, with you."

Louis doesn't say anything, doesn't even _move_ from where he's seated. He's just looking at Harry, shock written all over his face.

"I want to marry you," Harry says honestly, his mouth running away from him. He doesn't think he can stop himself from talking, doesn't even try to. "I want to marry you, one day, and I know I'm getting way ahead of myself, especially since I started this entire love confession the worst way possible, but the simple crux of the matter here is that I love you." And there it is. The three words. He takes a deep breath, plunges on. "I am _in_ love with you, Louis, so much, that...that...God, I don't know, nothing feels right." He breaks off, runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "There's literally no metaphor I can come up with to explain to you how much I love you, and I just, _I love you_ , I really do."

Louis opens his mouth, presumably to say something, but Harry doesn't let him.

"And I know what you're thinking, that it's illogical, falling in love in the course of a weekend," Harry continues, feeling like he's plummeting at a thousand kilometres an hour. "I mean that's just, what, three days? but I think, Lou, no wait, I _know_ –" he searches Louis' eyes, tries to find something, _anything_ , "–I know that I loved you long before this weekend, loved you as much as anyone could ever love anything, and probably a bit more than that, if I'm being honest, and I just _realized_ it at Gemma's wedding. So what I'm saying is," he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. "I'm in love with you, Louis Tomlinson, and I'd really like to stay engaged to you." He exhales. "Sorry for rambling."

There's a moment where Louis just stares at him, looking completely blown away and Harry feels the dread start to creep up his chest. Fuck, what if he doesn't feel the same? Louis' a fucking drama teacher, what if the entire weekend was just an act? Harry doesn't know if he'll be able to handle it being just an act.

He'll have to move out. He'll have to move out because there is _no way_ he'll be able to stay with Louis after this entire thing blows up in his face.

Harry opens his mouth, about to say something along the lines of _when do you want me to move out?_ when Louis beats him to it.

"If we're on the topic of confessing this," he says, his voice strained. "I have a confession to make."

Harry doesn't think his confession could be worse than anything Harry's already said. He's just probably going to confess about how the entire weekend was just acting for him, and that he didn't really like it, running around Holmes Chapel and spending time with Harry's family.

"I," and Harry watches as Louis wets his lips, his eyes sliding nervously to the side. "I kind of lied about the entire cake thing," he says, which, _what?_   "Like, I really did stumble across the poster, and I really _do_ like cake," he explains, his words tripping over themselves, "but the reason why I suggested it in the first place was so that I could pretend to be engaged to you."

_What?_

Louis shrugs, a small smile playing in his lips, and it makes something surge up Harry's chest, something akin to hope. "It's kind of stupid, but I really just wanted to hold your hand and pretend we were something more than what we were." He chuckles self-deprecatingly. "Look where that got us."

Harry doesn't think he can take anymore of this. "Louis...?" he asks, afraid to jump to conclusions. Or to _a_ conclusion, rather.

Louis laughs, and the sound makes Harry's heart beat faster. "You're so impatient," he teases. He smiles, one of those rare, breathtaking smiles breaking out on his face, and he's so _beautiful_ that Harry feels slightly teary. "But yes, Harry, I love you too." He pauses, tilts his head. "Or rather, I'm in love with you too, and if you don't come here and kiss me in five seconds, then I'm going to be _so_ mad."

Harry doesn't think he's moved faster in his life.

He presses his lips against Louis', kisses him with as much emotion, as much _love_ as he can manage. Louis' mouth parts easily for him, and he tastes so good that it makes Harry's head spin. He tastes like a mixture of sweetness and sunlight, and Harry can't stop kissing him, can't stop chasing the taste with his tongue.

Louis sighs into his mouth, his hands coming up to cradle Harry's face, and Harry just pulls him closer, just kisses him harder, the way he wanted to that weekend in Holmes Chapel, the way he wants to do again and again for the rest of his life. _Their_ lives, he corrects mentally. Their lives together.

One of Harry's hands snake up under Louis' hoodie, skimming at his ribs, and Louis laughs beautifully, breaking off the kiss. He's flushed, still smiling that once-in-a-lifetime smile, and he's looking at Harry with so much adoration and love that Harry just wants to pull him close and taste him, again.

"I love you," Louis says again, honestly, and Harry feels himself grin so wide his cheeks start to ache. "I have for the longest time."

"I love you too," Harry responds easily, because everything is so easy, with Louis. He leans forward and presses a short kiss to Louis' lips. "I'm sorry it took so long for me to realize."

"Well, you _do_ have the tendency to be adorably slow," Louis replies, giggling when Harry tickles him again. "But you got here eventually." He cocks his head. "And while you're here, you should kiss me more, come on."

"What do you mean, while?" Harry asks, swooping down to press another kiss on Louis' lips. He doesn't think he can say no to kissing Louis. "I'm not leaving. I'll be here for quite a long time. Forever, even." He pulls away, looks straight into Louis' eyes. "If you'll have me."

Louis' smile doesn't even falter. "Of course I'll have you," he agrees easily, like it's nothing. "I'll have you until you get so sick of me and leave."

Harry makes an affronted noise. "That's not going to happen," he argues. He kisses Louis again, just because he can. "More like _you're_ going to get so sick of me and leave."

"Well then," Louis says, stars in his eyes, "guess we just have to out-stay each other."

Harry laughs. "Guess we shall." He leans forward and presses a line of kisses on Louis' jaw line. "May the most stubborn man win," he whispers into Louis' ear, and Louis' quiet gasp is a reward in itself.

Louis pushes him away gently, and Harry pouts until he realizes that Louis is shifting on the bed, scooting down until his head is on the pillow. He grins up at Harry wickedly, naughtily, beautifully, and God, Harry has just spent the last five minutes kissing him, but he wants to kiss him again. Needs to, if he's being honest. Needs to kiss him and taste him and run his fingers on every part of Louis, needs to map him out with his fingerprints and his tongue.

"Well?" Louis asks. He flutters his eyelashes, and Harry feels his breath catch in his throat. He's just so damn _beautiful_ , that Harry can't fathom it. "Are you gonna come down here or do I have to go back up and get you myself?"

An idea suddenly hits Harry. "Wait," he says, trying to get his phone out of his pocket. "No, wait, okay, stay there."

He manages to slide his phone out of his trousers, his hands shaking in excitement. It takes him three tries to open the camera app, and then he's angling it until Louis is properly in the frame, trying to catch the correct lighting. He makes a noise of triumph when he finally gets it how he wants it, and then snaps a photo.

Louis just blinks up at him. "Harry," he starts, "are you photographing me?"

"Yep," Harry says, popping the p. He takes another photo because Louis is just _too_ beautiful. "I mean, I'm a photographer, and you're beautiful. Did you expect anything less?"

"Stop," Louis says, his cheeks turning pink. Harry takes another photo just as Louis laughs, his hands coming up to shield his face. Harry thinks that might be his favourite photo yet.

"This is kind of strange," Louis mutters into his hands, and Harry grins and snaps another picture. "Are you done?"

Harry doesn't think he'll ever, _ever_ be done photographing Louis. However, there are more important matters to attend to, such as Louis looking delectable, lying on a bed, so he leans over and sets his phone on the night table, before scooting down until he's level with Louis.

"I'm done," he promises, pulling Louis' hands away from his face. Louis blinks at him, adjusting to the light, and Harry can't help but press another kiss onto his lips. "Hey."

Louis' eyes flutter. "Hey," he replies softly, pulling Harry down to kiss him properly. His mouth is slick and warm beneath Harry's, fitting perfectly against Harry's own, and really, Harry doesn't know how he managed to go so long without this, but he knows he never wants to be without it ever again.

He chases Louis' taste with his tongue, follows it to the backs of his teeth, making Louis moan loudly, beautifully into his mouth. In an instant, the kiss is _filthy_ , and Harry doesn't think twice, just climbs on top of Louis and pins him on the bed.

Louis moans again, sucking on his tongue obscenely, and the sound makes Harry's cock fill up. Suddenly, the room's too hot–suddenly he needs Louis closer, needs to feel his bare skin against his own. Needs Louis to be naked, right now, so Harry that Harry can taste him all over.

Louis doesn't protest when Harry pulls at his hoodie, simply pulls away and pulls it off his back. Harry uses the time to divest himself of his own clothing, kicking his trousers of his legs and practically ripping his shirt in half.

"Wow," Louis says, when Harry manages to finally pull his shirt off. His blue eyes are dark, and the way he licks his lips makes Harry's cock perk up even more. "Someone's eager."

"Can you blame me?" Harry shoots back. He grinds down on Louis' lap, gleefully watches the way Louis' eyelids flutter. "You're looking mighty fine tonight, baby."

" _You_ ," Louis scolds, rolling his eyes, "are talking too much." There's a flush spreading down to his neck, though, which, hm. Curious.

Harry decides to test out his theory. He leans forward, catches Louis' earlobe between his teeth. "But _baby_ ," he says quietly, pitching his voice low, and mentally fist pumps when Louis gasps in response, "how am I supposed to tell you how hot you look?"

"I, um," Louis stammers, and Harry mentally pats himself on the back. He sucks a love bite below his ear, and Louis gasps again, hips bucking up to chase the friction.

"Hm?" Harry asks, into the skin of Louis' neck. He sucks another love bite beneath the first one, and filthy moan makes his cock jump. "What's that, baby?"

"H-Harry," Louis stammers out, his voice high and raspy and wrecked and fuck, they haven't even _done_ anything yet, but Harry feels dangerously close to coming.

"Come on, baby," he murmurs. He's already fully hard, his cock straining against the fabric of his underwear, but he ignores it, chooses to focus on Louis lying underneath him, looking like a wet dream come to life.

He pulls away to play with the band on Louis' underwear, his hand dipping to tease the head of Louis' cock. Louis visibly shivers, his hands coming up to grip Harry's shoulders. Harry rakes his eyes over him, chases flush spreading down his chest with his eyes. "Talk to me."

"I'm," is all that Louis manages to get out, his fingernails digging into Harry's skin. The tip of his cock is so wet, and Harry takes a moment to drag a finger through the mess of precome that's gathered on the head. "Harry."

" _Baby_ ," Harry shoots back, toying with the slit, and Louis gasps, his hips bucking up. He looks so good like this, better than anything Harry could've imagined, all flushed and panting and _Harry's_.

Because he is Harry's. He was Harry's in Holmes Chapel, amazingly enough, he's still Harry's in London–they could go anywhere in the world, and he would still be Harry's, the same way Harry would always be his.

Harry takes pity on him, pulls off his underwear. Louis' cock springs free, and it's the prettiest cock Harry's ever seen. It's just as pretty as the rest of him, hard and curving toward his stomach, and Harry doesn't even think twice about scooting down and suckling on the head.

"Fuck," Louis moans, his hips bucking up at the contact, and Harry looks at him from beneath his eyelashes, uses his free hands to pin Louis' hips down the bed. He continues to suckle on the head until Louis is thrashing, his hands coming up to grasp at Harry's hair.

Harry pulls off. "Still good, babe?" He checks, before leaning down to press a kiss on Louis' thigh. Louis squirms, kicking out weakly, and Harry chuckles, climbing up until he can press another kiss into Louis' mouth.

"You alright?" He asks when he pulls away. He takes a moment to observe him, to observe the bruises forming on his neck, the way his pupils are blown so wide that Harry can hardly see the ring of blue around it. "Lou?"

"Yeah," Louis chokes out, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks so pretty like this, all spread out beneath Harry, and if Harry wasn't fully hard yet, well, he is now. "Yeah, `m good."

Harry leans down to kiss Louis again, and God, he really doesn't know how he was able to go so long without this. He doesn't know how he was able to _live_ without it, especially when Louis was just right there, always, _always_ in arms reach.

Harry pulls away after a while then buries his face into his favourite spot, the junction between Louis' shoulder and neck. He fits his mouth, against Louis skin, bites at it. "Mind if I fuck you?"

Louis' sharp inhale makes Harry laugh. He pulls away, grinning, before leaning down to kiss him again. He can't seem to stop, see. "Or d'you want to do it the other way around?"

Louis wets his lips. "The first option," he says, his voice shaky, as Harry leans down to suck another love bite below the two already blooming. "Definitely the first option." He stills, doesn't move for so long that Harry frowns and pulls back, meeting Louis' worried eyes.

"Um," Louis starts, his voice scratchy. He flushes even more, the tops of his cheeks pinker than they were five seconds ago."It's been a while for me, so..." he trails off, shrugging, trying not to meet Harry's eyes.

Harry suddenly feels so much fondness for this beautiful, beautiful boy. "It's been a while for me too," he reassures, cupping Louis' face and looking into his eyes again. "Palaeolithic era, remember?" He asks, and is rewarded by Louis' quick grin. He kisses Louis gently, again, just because he can. "Do you want to stop?"

"No," Louis says quickly, into Harry's mouth. "Just, go slow, okay?"

"Of course," Harry nods, and he reaches over to Louis' night table, to the drawer he knows Louis keeps his lube and his condoms. He wastes no time in slicking up his fingers, before pushing Louis' legs up and rubbing a finger on his hole.

He kisses Louis as he pushes his finger in, Louis gasping into his mouth. He's tight around Harry's finger, and Harry makes sure to be gentle as he pushes it in, makes sure to stretch him slowly.

It's not long until Louis is grinding down on Harry's finger, moaning in a way that gets Harry's cock jumping. "More," he gasps, writhing on Harry's finger–Harry fucks his finger in and out, just to see his hole flutter around it. "More, Harry."

He pulls his finger out, fully, making Louis whine at the loss, before pushing two fingers back in. Louis moans loudly again at the intrusion, his spreading his legs to accommodate Harry. Harry crooks his fingers, scissors them, trying to feel around for Louis' prostate.

He knows he's found it when Louis jumps, like he's been electrocuted. "There," he gasps, and Harry does it again, just to see the way he falls apart.

"God," he murmurs, watching as Louis moans, his hips bucking up, searching for friction. "Look at you."

He grazes it again, and is rewarded by another filthy moan, and Harry has to physically restrain himself from pulling off right here, coming all over Louis. He'd look so good, covered in Harry's come–he'd look good in anything, if Harry's being honest–but right now Louis is spread open and whining for a third finger and Harry just wants to give the boy he loves anything he wants.

He presses his third one next to the others, and Louis makes a high-pitched sound. He takes Harry in so nicely, his hole fluttering around Harry's fingers, and God, does Harry want to finger him open for _hours_.

He can't though, because his cock is so hard it's borderline painful, and he doesn't think he can last that long. He needs Louis, needs Louis _now_ , because God, he just realized that he's been painfully in love with this beautiful boy for a while and they've already wasted so much _time_.

Louis whines when Harry withdraws his fingers, his hole clenching around air. Harry quickly removes his underwear, rolls the condom on, and then holds the base of his cock still as he pushes into Louis. He's _so_ tight that Harry worries he's going to split in two, but he stretches around Harry so beautifully that Harry physically can't tear his eyes away from where the length of his cock is slowly disappearing into Louis' hole.

"God," he pants, as he pushes in slowly, excruciatingly slowly. His muscles are strained, and he has to stop himself from pinning Louis down fucking into the his tight heat roughly, like he wants to. "Louis, I–"

He doesn't finish, because suddenly his cock slips in fully, finally buried inside the boy he loves, and all his nerve endings feel like they've been set ablaze. Louis' mouth is frozen in a gasp, his eyes half-lidded as his fingers dig welts into Harry's shoulders, and Harry thinks again, _I love you_.

He doesn't stop thinking it, not even when Louis gasps out move, not even when he pulls out and thrusts back in slowly, so as not to hurt him. It's always there, a single, constant thought in his mind, _I love you_.

He kisses him roughly, fucks him slowly. Louis is keening into his mouth, writhing beneath Harry, and Harry just presses kisses wherever he can reach, sucks love bites wherever he can.

Harry feels Louis' heel dig into his back. "Harder," Louis urges, nudging him with his heel. "Harder, Harry."

Harry chuckles, laughter bubbling up his chest. "What happened to going slow, babe?" He asks. He pulls out nearly all the way then slams into him hard, so hard that Louis actually wails.

"I _said_ –" Louis breaks off into a moan when Harry thrusts particularly hard, "–go slow, not fuck like a grandpa."

"Noted." Harry fucks into him again, hard, and Louis gasps, pushing his hips down to meet his thrust. He does it again, before pulling out all the way, watching as Louis' hole clenches around thin air.

He's doesn't know what he's thinking–he's gone all sex-stupid, barely even aware of what he's doing. He's barely even aware of physically turning Louis over until he's on his stomach, his arse in Harry's face. Barely even aware of digging his fingers into Louis' hips, pulling Louis flush against him. Barely even aware of fucking back into Louis easily, pounding him roughly while Louis presses his face into the mattress and keens.

He's so _loud_ , moaning and keening and whimpering like he's just come straight out of a porno. It spurs Harry on, pushes him to fuck harder, and faster. Louis' cock is blood-heavy, hanging between him and the mattress, and Harry grabs at it, tugs at it in time with his thrusts.

"Baby," he murmurs. He lets go of Louis' hips, wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him up, until he's flush against Harry. "Louis. Baby."

Louis whimpers, hides his face against Harry's neck. He bounces on Harry's cock, torn between fucking up into his fist or grinding down into his lap, and Harry presses a kiss into his hair.

"Lou," he says, and Louis must understand what he wants because he's capturing Harry's lips in a filthy kiss, dragging his tongue in Harry's mouth. Harry kisses him back, bites at his lower lip so hard it must hurt, and even then he doesn't pull away, just pants into Louis mouth as he fucks him roughly. He's close, so close–can feel the orgasm building in his belly, threatening to tip him over the edge. Louis is, too, judging by the way his sounds get more and more high-pitched, bouncing on Harry's cock with much more force.

Louis comes first, clenching around Harry, and the feel of his tight heat is enough to send Harry over the edge. He pounds into Louis roughly, holds him still as he comes inside Louis' arse, spilling into the condom.

They collapse in a pile of tangled limbs, and Harry takes a moment to tie the condom up, throw it somewhere on the floor, before gathering Louis up in his arms. Louis blinks at him, all messy hair and tired eyes, and Harry feels so much love for this boy, his Louis, that he doesn't what to do with it.

"Hey," he says, almost shyly, pressing a kiss onto Louis' hair. Louis hums happily, the corners of his mouth turned up in a content smile.

"Hey."

There's a content silence. And then, "I didn't know you were into the entire baby thing."

Immediately Louis groans, tries to bury his face into Harry's sweaty armpit. "Don't," he says into Harry's armpit, as Harry laughs, squirming at the sensation. "Just don't."

Harry tries to physically lift Louis' head with his other hand. "Get out from there, come on," he says, giggling when Louis' breaths accidentally tickle him. "It's honestly not that bad."

"Just you wait, Harry," Louis says darkly, burrowing further into Harry's armpit. He seems to be trying to make it his home. "I'll know every single one of your kinks, one day. Even the embarrassing ones."

"I don't have any embarrassing kinks," Harry argues, and Louis scoffs.

"Everyone has one."

"What's yours, then?" Harry asks, turning on his side so Louis can't hide in his armpit anymore. He tilts Louis' head up, meets his eye. "Because the 'baby' thing isn't _that_ embarrassing. so there must be something else."

Louis flushes, but doesn't tear his eyes away. "That's for me to know," he says primly. "And you to find out. Besides, you've got the rest of the foreseeable future to do that."

Harry feels his breath catch in his throat. "Yeah?" He asks. He grabs Louis' hand, intertwines them with his own. "What about the rest?"

"You've got all that, too," Louis agrees, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a smile. He's so beautiful. "We've got to out-stay each other, remember?"

Harry laughs. "So forever, then?" He asks, and feels his heart flutter at the words.

"Forever," Louis agrees, his eyes crinkled at the corners.  He pulls their joined hands toward him, presses a kiss on Harry's knuckles. "That's going to be an awfully big adventure, don't you think?"

And yeah, it is. Harry finds he doesn't mind very much.

. . .

**EPILOGUE**

Harry wakes to the sound of a shutter, one rainy weekend in London.

He stretches, humming pleasantly when he feels his body ache in protest, a nice reminder of last night's rather fun activities, before rolling onto his stomach and burying his face into his pillow. He reaches out to Louis' side of the bed, and he frowns when his fingers graze the cool bed sheet.

"Louis," he mumbles into his pillow, his brow furrowed. He yawns, stretching, enjoying the way his bum twinges dully. "Babe, where are you?"

"Right here." There's another click of a shutter, and Harry groans, making grabby hands to where he thinks Louis is.

"You're too far," he whines, refusing to lift his head from the pillow. It's much too early to be up, much too cold to leave the bed, and Harry doesn't understand why Louis went and did both those things. "The bed's cold."

He hears a soft chuckle. "Coming, love."

It's not long until he feels Louis climbing the bed, hovering on top of Harry, and Harry holds his breath, rolls over onto his back, and blinks up blearily at Louis.

There's a small smile on his lips, his blue eyes filled with love, and Harry feels the air leave his lungs. He's known Louis quite a while now, dated him for almost a year, but still, the sight of Louis, all happy and fond above Harry, never seems to get old.

"Hey," Louis says softly, his eyes crinkled in the corners, and God, Harry loves this boy so, so much.

"Hey," he answers, pursing his lips. Louis leans down, presses a gentle kiss on his lips, and Harry sighs into his mouth wholly, proudly lovesick.

He wraps his arms around Louis' waist, trying to pull Louis closer so he can kiss him properly, maybe even go for a round two, but Louis squeals, pushing Harry away.

"Careful!" He chides, scooting down a bit to straddle Harry's stomach. Harry frowns at him, confused, until he spots his camera hanging from Louis' neck.

"Louis, babe, I know that I love photography," he begins, eyeing the camera from Louis' neck. "Made a career out of it, after all. But, that doesn't mean I want the camera in bed."

Louis holds the camera up, his eyes dancing. "Smile," he says, and before Harry can even say anything, he's snapping a photo of Harry, the sound of the shutter loud in their quiet bedroom.

Harry covers his face. "Louis," he groans, as Louis reviews the photo. "I look horrible."

"You look perfect to me, love," Louis quips, and Harry hears the sound of the shutter again.

Harry rolls his eyes behind his hands. "That's my work camera," he complains, keeping his hands on his face. He bites his lip, tries to stop himself from laughing. "I have photos for work there, Louis."

"Sorry," Louis apologizes, sounding not-at-all remorseful. Harry hears him take another picture. "The photos will be gone, later, promise. Just wanted to document this moment."

Harry sighs. "What are you even taking pictures of?"

"You." There's another click that makes Harry groan, the corners of his lips twitching up. "Your pretty bum."

"Are you saying that there are pictures of my bum in my camera?"

"Maybe, maybe not," One of Louis' hands is gripping Harry's wrist, prying it off his face. "You'll never know."

Harry gives him a look. "Louis."

"Well," Louis answers, shrugging inncuously. The look in his eye tells Harry he's far from innocent. "There might be one? Or two? But I won't show anyone else, I promise."

Harry lets it go. "What else?" He asks, an eyebrow raised.

Louis grins, his eyes sparkling, despite the dreary London weather and the chill in the room. He picks up one of Harry's hands, presses a kiss on his knuckle, above where Harry's brand-new engagement ring sits. "This."

Because yeah, they're engaged. Truly, properly, let's-set-a-wedding-date engaged.

"I can't believe you really said yes," Louis says, hushed. There's so much wonder in his voice, so much awe in his eyes, like he never thought Harry would agree to marry him, and it makes Harry roll his eyes.

"Of course I did," Harry says. He pulls his hand away from Louis' grip, wraps his arms around Louis' neck. "I literally told you I wanted to marry you, that first night."

"I know, but there's a difference between saying and actually doing."

"I'm a man of my word," Harry promises, and Louis breaks into a grin so wide it almost looks painful. He looks so happy that Harry vows, right then and there, to put a smile on his face, everyday for the rest of his life.

They don’t even have a wedding date set and here Harry is, already writing his vows. He’s a bit eager but, can you blame him? He’s engaged to the one, big love of his life. For real, this time.

"We're engaged," Louis says, bringing Harry back to the present. There’s still a hint of disbelief in his voice, like he thinks this is all some fever dream.

"We are,” Harry replies. He flashes the engagement ring at him, beaming. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of doing that.

"We're _actually_ engaged."

"We are."

"We're going to get married."

Harry chuckles. "That's technically what happens when you're engaged, yes."

Louis leans forward conspiratorially. "Know what that means?"

"What, babe?”

Louis' blue eyes glint like sapphires. "More free cake."

**Author's Note:**

> title is frome 'cake by the ocean' by dnce
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://missandrogyny.tumblr.com)!


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